The Collared Wolf
by Crippled-Canary
Summary: Eldest Stark daughter Lynette's world shatters into nothingness when Ice cleaves her beloved father's head from his body. She and her sister, Sansa, must fight to survive the Great Game they find themselves thrown into. To protect her sister, Lynette makes a life-altering choice: to marry a Lannister. [Rated M for descriptions of intimacy, violence and language.]
1. Chapter 1

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 1: A FAVOURABLE ARRANGEMENT

If a person could die of anxiety, she would be a rotting corpse. 

Lynette Stark, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn, was trembling like a leaf. She was the eldest of the Stark children but had unfortunately been born a woman in a time made for men. 

She was young, a girl full of dreams and hopes of a bright future. Winterfell was her home, all she had ever known and what she had come to love. She was a good daughter, a little cheeky perhaps, but nothing too terrible. Lynette was young, a little naïve and maybe even too innocent to be thrust into a place like King's Landing on such short notice. 

The past seventeen months seemed to blur when she looked back at it. Lynette bowed her dark head and refused to look back into the mirror. She knew that tears were useless at this point. All she could do was clench her teeth, raise her chin and meet her fate with dignity. 

For deep down, she knew, a wolf could never be tamed. 

* * *

_The snow had fallen thickly in the North the day before the Royal Caravan approached. Lynette remembered how she watched from the Broken Tower as squires and stable boys scraped the cobblestone clear of ice. Winterfell was abuzz with energy and waiting for the King's arrival with nothing but anticipation. The preparations were made, food was stocked up and wine barrels were stacked in the kitchens._

 _The stablemaster made room in the stables for the Royal horses. The kennel master made room in the kennels for the Royal dogs. The bannermen cleaned their armor and the guards sharpened their swords._

 _Lynette was not ready. She was not prepared for what was to come. She helped her Lady Mother with what she could, worked until the candles were burnt out and the moon was high in the night sky, but she wasn't ready for her home to be invaded._

 _She was not stupid. She knew how the Southerners were. They weren't honorable. She sometimes wondered if the cold of the North was what made a Northman more honorable than a Southerner. She knew the king would ask her Lord Father to become his Hand. She knew that her sister Sansa would most likely be betrothed to the prince by the end of the month._

 _Lynette felt as if her home was being taken away from her. She had grown up to the peaceful calm that was Winterfell. Her father worked hard to maintain the peace, and now, by the will of a king and an old friend, her father would be forced away from her. She never expected to lose him. He was the one constant in her life._

" _Lynette!"_

 _With the sound of her name being hollered up the ruins of the Tower, she was shocked back into reality. She dutifully answered the call, descended by way of stairs to appease her mother and returned to the solid ground of the courtyard. The morning air was crisp and clean and the cold resonated well with her Winter bones. Her mother fretted when she saw her eldest child's disheveled appearance._

" _Oh!" Lady Catelyn exclaimed, "Must you act like a boy so close to the king's arrival?!"_

 _Lynette wanted to snip something biting back to her mother but restrained herself when her father appeared behind the Lady of Winterfell with a smile shining in his wise eyes. Lynette smiled at her father and quickly dropped her head in respect. Her mother glanced behind her and relaxed into her husband's embrace. She momentarily forgot about her daughter's unkept mane of dark curls and her choice of clothing._

 _It was not that Lynette wanted to be a man. She liked being a woman._

 _She just hated wearing dresses and corsets and dainty slippers that disintegrated when they touched dirt. Trousers and Robb's old tunics suited her better._

" _Forgive me, mother," she apologized and caught her father's twinkling eyes with her own, "I was waiting for father."_

 _Eddard Stark chuckled at his wife's exasperated frustration, despite his worries and just kissed her forehead. The castle was not fully awake yet, only the few servants they kept were scurrying around. The courtyard was clean, and the stable lads were back to the horses. He knew his Lady Wife was not angry with Lynette. They both loved their untamable wolf of a daughter. Catelyn admired the fire in her daughter's eyes. She was a true heir of the North. Lynette Stark would be a formidable woman one day._

 _Ned released his wife from his arms and beckoned his eldest to him. With a kiss to her mother's cheek, Lynette followed her father down the well-trod path to the Godswood. She knew her father found peace there, sitting in front of the Weirwood tree. She supposed peace was something he cherished above all else._

 _She understood it._

 _Peace was everything. True peace was priceless._

" _I wonder sometimes if you have Lyanna's soul," Ned murmured after they sat down. He sat on a rock, and Lynette sat at his feet as she did when she was no more than three. Back then, as her father's eldest child, she had been the apple of his eye and the one thing that kept him from drowning in guilt and grief._

" _I have my own soul, father," Lynette replied hotly, "A soul that howls like a caged wolf."_

 _Her father's deep gaze locked with her own and the wisdom in his grey eyes calmed her stormy insides. Ned knew that was exactly what his sister would have said. He smiled and kissed his daughter's forehead._

' _Yes,' he mused, 'she had the soul of a wolf.'_

* * *

Little did Lynette know that everything would go downhill from there. She was blissfully unaware that that would be the last memory she and her beloved father shared. She didn't know that she started dying there, in the Godswood in front of the Weirwood tree.

Lynette didn't feel very wolf-like when she had been informed that they were moving to King's Landing.

She cried her heart out when Bran fell from the Tower they had climbed together. She didn't feel the strength her home had instilled in her and the wolf on the Stark banners gave her no comfort as she stared down at Bran's mangled body.

She felt her heart shudder when Jon, sweet Jon told her he was taking the Black. Her half-brother in name, but full-brother in heart, was giving up his life like a sacrificial lamb. Lynette had hugged him tightly, dragged him into her chambers and made him promise to write to her. They held one another in bittersweet sadness and reminisced about the good times they shared. He was so much like her father… and yet, still so different.

Lynette didn't care for the King's death. She felt nothing when the child her sister Sansa loved was crowned King and a feast was thrown in his name.

She tried to be strong when her father was arrested. She was sure that he would be set free. The child in her was unwilling to accept that her father would never be set free again. Lynette didn't care that she was shaming a great house when she drank herself into a drunken stupor when she was informed her father was to be treated by Joffrey's mercy. She knew he had none. She felt like a failure. She didn't feel much like a direwolf when Ser Illyn Payne swung Ice through the air in a mighty arc and severed her loving father's head.

Lynette felt hollow and empty. She had lost everything. Her home was gone, her family was destroyed and everything that was left of her soul, her fiery Stark  
soul, was broken and torn apart by pain.

She stopped eating. She wasted away.

The beatings that Ser Meryn gave her daily when Sister Sansa could no longer satisfy the king's sadistic urges, didn't matter to her anymore. It was the one time of the day that she felt a spark of anger, a flicker of her direwolf soul come back to life. Her own life was meaningless to her. Her body was littered with scars and bruises and her heart was tarnished, forced to accept that love was cruelty and that she would never taste the freedom she feasted on at Winterfell, unless she freed herself from the hell she was in.

Oft times, the lashes that should have stained Sansa's skin landed on her own. The bruises that started on Sansa's body littered her own flesh. Lynette protected her sister to the last and provoked Joffrey in court to keep his attentions away from her sister, Sansa.

They were never close in Winterfell. Sansa disapproved of Lynette's choice of clothing and Lynette disapproved of the way Sansa treated Jon. It was a petty thing. Now, the two Starks were inseparable. Lynette would die for Sansa and the promise she made to her father to protect her siblings. She couldn't protect Bran, wherever he was. All she could do was hope that Jon was alive and healthy. Like many promises that were made before the Starks left Winterfell, Jon's promise to write to her was not kept.

She missed his melancholic eyes and his tender smile.

There, in the cave of horned lions, the two wolves finally forged a pack.

The Battle of the Blackwater shook the Gates of the Keep. It was blazing with red-hot flames of wildfire and for a moment, Lynette allowed herself to imagine a future for her and her sister if the King perished in the blaze. Meagor's Holdfast was barred from the inside by the man who murdered, because she refused to say executed, her father and she and Sansa and the other ladies of Court were nested in the safe little hideout.

She thought back to the way her sister had demeaned the king in the Throne Room only minutes before. She was proud of her sister. Perhaps there was some wolf left in her yet. Sandor Clegane beheld her sweet sister with adoration and hunger burning in his eyes. If only she could have looked past his hideous appearance. He would have made her happy in his own pragmatic way. He would have made her laugh with his foul-mouthed jokes. She was still too immersed in tales and songs of handsome knights and honorable suitors to see what was right in front of her.

The littlest Lannister, and by far the best of all of them, Tyrion was wounded in battle and Sansa's handmaiden was beside herself with worry.

The Old Lion, Tywin Lannister, Protector of Lannisport, rode into the Throne Room atop his white stallion and was made Hand of the King.

A small flicker of happiness danced through her when Margery, of House Tyrell, was declared the future wife of the king and queen of Westeros. It was snuffed out when Lynette realized that she and her sister would never be set free. She was broken beyond repair with a heart scarred beyond recognition, with the single promise to keep Sansa safe the only thing that kept her from hurling herself from the parapets of The Keep.

Again, what had started as a punishment Sansa was to endure, ended as a torment that Lynette shrugged onto her own shoulders. It seemed the mad little King wanted a Stark to wed a Lannister, and being the king, he got what he wanted. The Imp was to marry Sansa, by decree of Joffrey Baratheon, who looked like a Lion and not a Stag, King of those who feared him too much to stand up to him and Protector of the hypocritical fools of his Court.

When Sansa came to Lynette's chambers, crying, beaten and bruised, the eldest Stark could do nothing but hold her and stroke her Tully hair while she tried to find a way to dig them out of the hole they found themselves in.

* * *

Later that night, after she forced Sansa's handmaiden to take the girl to her own chambers and give her a sleeping draught, Lynette Stark mounted the stairs of the Tower of the Hand.

Her body was aching from the lashes of the switch Ser Meryn used on her and the corset she was forced into made her cracked ribs sing with pain. She ignored it. She had become exceptionally good at ignoring the things that bothered her.

She knew the Lion of House Lannister would not be asleep at the hour of night. His candles burned into the early hours of the morning. The stairs had her winded when she reached the top of the Tower. The Lannister guards in their fancy red and gold armor stood watch over their Lord's chamber.

They menacingly advanced, "What the fuck are you doing here, traitor's daughter?"

Lynette didn't answer them but tiredly rolled her eyes. She bit back a snipping retort and instead settled for a soft, "I am come to see the Hand." She glared at the guard who had spoken to her and couldn't resist to skewer him into place with a harsh look, "Obviously."

She could feel the waves of tension seeping out of all of them. The guard who hadn't spoken held her eyes with his own startling blue ones for a moment before he knocked on the door of the chambers. There was not answer.

Lynette had quickly learned that Tywin Lannister was a deliberate man. He did nothing he didn't have to but did what he had to, thoroughly. She supposed in that respect she admired his cunning mind. However, he was a Lannister. The House of Lions had murdered her father.

She would see them all begging for mercy before her end.

After an uncomfortable silence, she heard a single word resounding clearly from behind the fine wooden door.

"Enter."

It was then that fear began to rise in her throat. Lynette knew that with every step closer to his chambers she was walking closer to the end of her own identity. She was selling herself for her sister. Noble? No.

Stupid.

The door swung open, and the guard that had not spoke jerked his head to motion for her to go inside. She swallowed her trepidation and crossed the threshold of the room. She was momentarily stunned by the grandeur of it. She had been to the Tower of the Hand before, when her father was Hand. That seemed like it was an age ago. She could no longer recall the happy laughs she had shared with him in the safe cocoon of the walls she found herself in.

She dragged her eyes away from the raging fire and turned to face Tywin Lannister where he sat behind a desk of rich wood. He had stopped what he was writing and was looking at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to explain why she dared to disturb him. Lynette stuck her chin in the air defiantly and looked him right in the eyes.

"My Lord Hand."

"Lady Lynette."

His voice betrayed nothing, and his mouth was set in a firm line. He didn't stand up from his chair and she didn't really expect him to. She was in his chambers. He could do to her whatever he wanted to. Lynette came to his rooms with her heart in her hands. She would most likely leave with it dashed against a wall.

"You are marrying my sister to your youngest son."

Lynette marveled at the steadiness in her voice. It didn't betray her nerves, for which she was grateful. She was adept at masking what she was feeling and hiding it from others. She was learning to play the Game that Cersei crooned on about.

The Lannister didn't say anything. He didn't even set his quill down from the parchment he was busy with. He regarded her with contempt in his green eyes. She expected nothing less.

"Tell me, _Lord Hand_ ," she started mockingly, flowed gracefully up to his desk and sat down daintily on the wingback chair in front of him. She didn't ask him if she could sit, but she wanted him to be aware of the wolf in her, the fire that his grandson couldn't extinguish. She was her own woman, and she would show him, even if the confident mask she wore was more to reassure herself and not him. She flicked an invisible piece of lint from the armrest of the leather chair, and continued, praying to the Old Gods that her voice remained steady, "what does your precious legacy stand to gain from a union between the youngest Stark and the Lannister Dwarf?"

 _That_ made Tywin put his quill down.

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He was amused.

It irked her.

The Hand eloquently folded his hands in front of him and met her gaze squarely and straightened himself in his chair. He was clearly amused as he spoke, "House Lannister serves te king, young Stark."

She smiled tightly and spoke to him in a straight, no-nonsense tone that Ned Stark would have been proud of, "We both know that you rule the Seven Kingdoms even if the crown is not on your head, Lord Lannister."

It was like a game of chess. She would speak and wait for him to respond, studying him. He in turn, studied her. And saw past the pain in her eyes to the determination that lay shining in their grey depths.

Tywin raised an eyebrow at that, "True."

"And do you think it is wise to throw away this chance to possess both South and North?" Lynette pressed. She was playing a dangerous game. Tywin was unyielding, and his eyes and body betrayed nothing that he was thinking, so she continued, "My sister would have to kill me if she wanted to rule the North. And then, if she should succeed, whether my end would be brought about by golden assassins or poison, the people would hate her and never accept her Lannister rule."

"What do you propose, _Lady_ Stark?"

He sounded so nonchalant that it made her want to scream. How dare he demean her like this! She knew he did it to get a rise out of her, but she refused to be belittled and kept her eyes staring into his. Tywin let something slip then, sitting there.

He was tired.

Not simply from the lack of sleep, but from the knowledge that Men don't live forever and that he was getting older. She knew from the history books that his father did nothing but squander and pity. It was evident that he wanted to erase that from the books and instead replace it with something greater.

She smiled, fake, but still stunningly beautiful he realized despite his firm resolution to brush her angelic face aside and instead behold her mind, "I will marry a Lannister."

Tywin looked surprised but quickly reined his expression back into the impassive mask he always wore. There was no warmth in his eyes as he beheld the girl in front of him. _Foolish child_ , he had thought when she entered the room. Now, something akin to respect began to take root in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it but failed.

"Marriage between great houses end wars just as quickly as they start them."

Lynette nodded her agreement, "True. Good thing for us the war has already started, and we can end it then."

For a moment, Lynette feared that the Lion of Lannister would laugh at her offer. There was a twinkle in his green eyes, the golden flecks glimmering, and for a moment, she was afraid of him. But she soon righted herself and swallowed her trepidation when she saw him nod slowly.

"And which Lannister will you marry, Lynette Stark?"

With a smart little shrug, she stood up and said, "I don't care. Whatever pleases you, my lord."

Tywin beheld her strangely. He began to doubt her shrewdness then. If she wanted to save her sister, he would never reap the rewards that she offered him. Love had no place in the Great Game.

Lynette knew he would think her weak. Even though her main objective was to spare Sansa, she knew that he would be easier to convince when he saw her truly stand by her decision. She was in front of his desk now, looking down at him as if he was a clod of dirt on her boot, "It would be wiser to preserve your heir and eldest son for a better prospect, Lord Lannister. I hear the Dornish have a score of princesses to choose from."

With that, she turned around and walked out of the room without so much as a glance his way. He would have called her back if he didn't agree. She knew she had succeeded. But how, how was she going to face this situation she found herself in. How was she going to survive this time? When the door shut behind her, she fled down the steps. Ignoring the pain in her side, she ran all the way to her room and threw herself inside and onto her bed.

What had she done?

Lynette Stark, daughter of Catelyn and Eddard Stark, heir of Winterfell, the She-wolf, had sold herself to a lion to save her sister.

She chose the Dwarf and not the Knight.

Lynette knew she would rather have half a man than a man who fucked his sister and threw her brother from a tower to hide it.

She slept fitfully that night and dreamed of mismatched eyes and golden lions.

* * *

 _Author's Notes:_

Thank you for suffering through the first chapter of The Collared Wolf. There are many more to come. Please give this story a chance. Some chapter may be harrowing, but so is _A Song of Ice and Fire_ , and _Game of Thrones_.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 2: Dinner and a show

 _The sun was shining pleasantly, and it warmed her skin. King's Landing was not nearly as cold as the North when the sun was hidden, but she was thankful for the small memory of home. Lynette was sitting in the Godswood in front of the Weir Tree, trying to recall the sound of her father's deep voice to give her guidance and not the sickening sound of her father's head rolling over the stone steps._

 _She was focused on not thinking about anything other than her father and that last memory they shared, sitting in the Godswood at Winterfell. The sound of approaching footsteps were lost on her and she didn't realize that there was someone behind her until her name was uttered behind her._

" _Lady Stark?"_

 _Lynette started to her feet and whirled around. She met the dark eyes of Ser Bronn, the sellsword that followed the youngest and littlest Lannister around like a puppy. She quickly let her eyes flit downwards, until they met his mismatched eyes. There he was, the hated imp._

" _Lord Tyrion," she started but made no move to curtsy to him or even get up from her seat, "how are you?"_

 _Lynette refused to be brought to her knees by men. Outwardly, she needed to seem unaffected by this development, impassive as his father and ruthless as his sister. Oh, how Lynette longed for her father's embrace._

 _The Halfman was distraught, she could tell. He glanced up at his sellsword and Bronn tactfully decided to wander a way from them at his Lord's silent command._

" _I am well, Lady Stark," he muttered. Lynette almost felt sorry for him._

 _He didn't look well. There were bags under his eyes and it looked as if he had taken a swan dive into a barrel of wine. Oddly enough, she assumed he would fit in it. The thought would have made her smile a few years ago. Now, smiling seemed a foreign concept._

" _What can I do for you, my lord?"_

 _His head snapped up and she met his hard gaze squarely. She wasn't going to back down. Not now._

" _I came to offer my condolences, for what its worth."_

 _That shocked her. A Lannister, expressing compassion. A cynical laugh crept its way up her throat, but she stopped it just in time. The dwarf seemed preoccupied and dazed. She assumed she didn't look better. Her dress was rumpled and her hair was loose and unbound in the wind. She had pulled the sides of her wayward curls together with a leather tie and left it like that._

 _Vanity didn't bother her in that moment._

 _When she searched his eyes, deeply and thoroughly, she concluded that he was being sincere. A rare feat in the Keep. It was disconcerting._

 _Despite herself, Lynette felt a tear prick in the corner of her eye. She bowed her head until the emotions had passed and forced herself to say, "My father was a traitor in the eyes of the King, my lord. 'Tis best not to waste breath on uncouth things."_

 _A wistful smile appeared on his lips. 'She was learning', the dwarf mused, 'that was a good thing.'_

" _Of course, my lady."_

 _They stood staring at one another until Bronn decided to show up behind his little lord. He made Lynette feel safer. Not safer, she reasoned, slightly less exposed. In a way, he was like Sandor, but a bit nicer. The Hound was kind to her sister and Lynette would be forever thankful. She only wished that Sansa had abandoned her hopes of marrying a handsome knight and accepted him. There was so much more to the man than burnt flesh and scarred hands._

 _Lynette forced a small smile directed at Bronn, "Lord Tyrion, may I ask a favor?"_

 _The little lord brightened some and nodded, "Whatever the lady desires."_

" _Bronn, may I steal you away tomorrow morning? I haven't been on a horse in ages."_

 _The sellsword's rough dark eyes met her own in question but remained silent until the Lannister answered her, "Certainly. Pod will accompany me to court. Bronn take the Lady Stark on a ride. A long one, I think."_

 _Lynette let herself relax at that and thanked both men before she disappeared down the trail to her rooms. The next morning, she rushed to the stables to find Ser Bronn waiting for her. He was holding his horse, still unsaddled luckily and munching on an apple. Lynette straightened the fur lined coat she was wearing. Her breath clouded with every exhale and the cold settled deep into her bones._

 _It reminded her of home and her father. She knew that the cold weather would always remind her of happier days._

 _The sellsword was brushing the gleaming coat of his horse, batting the animal's soft nose away from the piece of fruit his master was devouring. Lynette took a carrot from her pocket and fed it to the animal. The stallion greedily accepted it._

" _Good morrow, Bronn."_

 _He grunted in answer, mouth still too full of apple to answer and swallowed after a time, before he drawled, """Mornin'."_

 _Lynette disappeared into the stable and walked down the aisle until she found her favorite, a bay stallion that stood at a towering sixteen hands, named for the Targaryen prince, Rheagar. She assumed he was of Dornish descent, because he had a dished nose and fine legs._

 _By the time they were tacked up and ready, Lynette was barely holding back tears. With a pained look in her eyes, she tightened her legs around Rheagar's  
sides and let him run, trying to escape the den of Lions._

* * *

Lynette rose early the next morning and washed herself quickly. She dressed in a simple gown and made tracks down the halls to the rooms of her sister. She nodded to the guards on duty, Kettleback and Osmund, and slipped inside the room. Sansa was sitting at her dressing table and her maid, Shae was brushing her beautiful hair.

"Hello, sister," she greeted and crossed the room to stand beside Shae. The handmaiden's eyes met her own for a split second before she carried on brushing her lady's hair.

"Morning, Linnie. Are you well-rested?" Sansa chirped from her seat.

Smiling, Lynette took the brush from Shae and gently pulled it through her sister's auburn tresses. Shae chose a gown from her sister's closet and lay it on the bed ready to dress her lady in it.

"You aren't marrying a Lion just yet, sister."

Sansa's Tully eyes flew to hers in the mirror, and Lynette gripped the brush tighter to keep tears at bay. The elation and relief on her sister's face was enough to assure her that she was doing the right thing, but Lynette desperately wanted to be selfish and let Sansa marry the imp. 'Does that make me horrible?' she wondered and kept brushing until the red hair gleamed.

The number one rule in King's Landing, was no names. Sansa knew what she was talking about. Lynette trusted Shae to an extent. But in the lion's den, no one was safe unless they had an endless supply of rare meat to keep the lions' attention elsewhere.

"Thank you, Lynette."

Nodding, the eldest Stark set the brush down, and left the room. Once outside and a few corridors down, a sob escaped her and she collapsed against a rough stone wall. She bit her hand to keep herself silent, but that didn't help the tears that were streaming down her face. Lynette let herself cry for a moment until she heard footsteps echo down the hall somewhere and wiped her cheeks and face.

Moving quickly to avoid being questioned by one of Cersei's many lackeys, she fled to the garden. It was calm and quiet, and it soothed her nerves. No wonder Cersei drank only slightly less than Tyrion did. Lying and cheating and playing the Game of Thrones was tiring.

"Lady Stark?"

She turned around, ready to snap at whoever broke the silence, but forced herself not to rip the poor messenger's head off. It was a young boy, dressed in Lannister colors, that stood before her. He looked like a fly that was caught in the web of a spider. He remembered himself then, when she lifted her stern grey glare from his face.

"The Hand requests that you join him for breakfast in his solar, my lady."

Raising an eyebrow, Lynette snapped, "And if I refuse?"

The boy met her gaze unflinchingly this time and answered, "He said to come anyway."

Nodding, the daughter of the traitor left the blissful solitude of the garden and walked herself back to the Hand's solar. She didn't bother to talk to the blasted guards. They were as good as statues anyway. The guard from the night before, whose name she didn't know, but had rather astounding blue eyes, knocked on the door for her and opened it when the Hand willed it.

Lynette swept inside, her mask of confidence sliding into place as easily as it came off only moments before when she was bawling in the corridors.

"Lord Tywin," she acknowledges, distantly, as if she had better things to do than share a meal with him, "why do you take me away from the company of my sister so early in the morning?"

He looked unimpressed and rather stalwart, but she was determined to make him as uncomfortable as possible and regretted her decision to wear a plain dress. She would never try to seduce him, any woman trying to get Tywin Lannister to do her bidding by spreading her legs had better know what she was doing, otherwise she was in for a wonderous surprise.

It was just that he was used to seeing women in richly designed dresses that could make queens jealous. She was dressed like a peasant as she stood before him, the embodiment of irony. Dressed as a peasant with a regal and proud bearing of a nobleman's daughter.

Tywin stood up when she entered, perhaps there was some gentlemanly manners left in him, let her sit first and took his seat again. His movements were calculated, effective and so deliberate. The table were spread out with delicacies and Lynette wondered how many beggars could be fed for a day with the food resting on the platters.

"Lady Stark. I trust you slept well."

He buttered a bun and reached for a piece of meat. She made no move to eat. It had been ages since she could keep a proper meal down and her body was beginning to show just how little she was taking in. Tywin had noticed, long before she appeared in his room, already a sign of uncanny courage and refused to brand the nagging feeling in the back of his head as worry.

She was the daughter of a traitor.

A traitor with a powerful name that could help him leave a permanent mark on the world he was leaving behind.

He would treat her as such.

Lynette kept her back straight and watched him eat, trying to find weakness in his mannerisms but found none even when he was eating his breakfast. It  
made her want to pull out her hair and applaud him at the same time. She could learn a lot from a man like him. A pity that he was the enemy.

Sighing inwardly, Lynette realized he had no intention of getting up and letting them continue the conversation he had no doubt rehearsed with practiced efficiency in a more formal setting. There was something off about him, something she couldn't place.

She hated that.

He was a dangerous man, the most powerful in Westeros and he could have her flayed in his living room with a snap of his fingers.

Lynette leaned forward slightly and selected an apple from the large dish of fruit in front of her. At home, she would have bit into it and chewed it with the juice dripping down her chin and a smile on her lips. But in the Solar of the Hand, Lynette dutifully reached for the knife lying at the left side of her plate and cut the fruit squarely and surely. The first bite tasted foreign in her mouth and Lynette's stomach churned in anticipation.

She forced herself to eat slowly.

"As well as a wolf can in a den of lions, my lord."

His eyes met hers then. Tywin Lannister didn't lift his chin, he simply let his eyes raise himself from the bun he was buttering and set the knife down beside his plate. The serious face of the Lion of Lannister regarded her with measured scrutiny. There was a deadly calm about him, even when he was fighting or arguing with his Council Members.

She knew that it was made to intimidate, scare and demand respect.

She wasn't afraid of him, perhaps a little wary of the power that rested on his strong shoulders. He was a … 'No!', she stopped herself, 'he was not honorable.' If anything, Lord Tywin was an enigma. He intrigued her.

"You have a quick tongue, Lady Stark," he popped a grape into his mouth, and as if they were simply discussing the style of Myrish rugs that adorned the floors, said, "It would be a shame if you lost it."

Smirking, Lynette dabbed her chin with the embroidered napkin and returned just as casually, "It would. My tongue can't proclaim your son the Lord of Winterfell if it is lying uselessly in some smoldering fireplace."

A piece of meat she couldn't identify landed on his plate. An egg followed and a sip of the watered-down wine she often saw him drink. Yes, that made him just as wary as her. Trust had no place in the King's courts.

"You will marry a Lannister, Lady Stark."

One finely shaped eyebrow raised itself in question. Tywin said nothing. There was no need for him to speak if she didn't ask him a question. Tywin never said more than he had to and never said things in elaborate flowery language. He had no time for elaborate speech and floundering flattery. The Stark in front of him was a formidable opponent in the Game.

She could either remain a worthy enemy or she could become a treasured ally.

Tywin was no fool. He daily berated his daughter and grandson's derisive lack of knowledge when it came to the value of the Stark sisters. They lost Arya, almost let Sansa be raped and Lynette, well… They could have had peace and not war and many valuable Lannister soldiers would not have lost their lives if it weren't for jealousy and stupidity on his kin's part. Ned Stark's death should have been managed better. The war should have been the doing of the Capitol and not the Rebels.

One would think that after Robert Baratheon's rebellion that the people of King's Landing would have developed some sense. That war was terrible. It was made worse by the madness that Aegon Targaryen had in him. If his son hadn't killed him, King's Landing would be a meager scrap of rubble on a sea of blood.

Tywin looked bored and Lynette hummed in assent. On the outside, she was calm and looked just as jaded as he. But inside her deepest, inmost core, she was shaking like a leaf. Her heart was racing, and her hands were clammy as she reached for the cup of water in front of her. He didn't give her specifics. In a place like this, that was dangerous. Somehow, Lynette should have known that he would use this to his own advantage.

But she allowed herself to think that she could trust him for a second. That was her first mistake. She shouldn't have mentioned Sansa. That was her second mistake. If one Stark offered to wed a Lannister, she should have done it in the King's court, where witnesses could murmur to themselves at her forwardness and later have the daughters of noblemen admire the fire in her wolf-heart.

Instead, Lynette had shown weakness by seeking him out on his chambers when the sun had sunk low into its crib. She knew he would do something she didn't like. Now, she was staring the unknown in the face like a soldier standing alone against a charge of cavalry.

"As the _Hand_ commands."

Her tone was biting, daring him to go against her wishes.

That was exactly what he did.

"You won't be marrying my sons, Lady Stark," he started. There was a lilt in his voice she couldn't identify and quickly brushed it aside.

Lynette pondered over his words. Surely, he didn't mean… Her heart started racing again, pounding wildly against her ribcage. Lynette begged whichever gods listened to the daughters of traitors to deliver herself from the situation she was in and quickly stilled her trembling fingers.

If he wanted her to ask a question he would have inclined his head to her. He didn't. she remained silent but glared at him, the only defiance she still possessed were her flintlike eyes.

"You will marry me."

His voice left no room for argument and Lynette had to dig her nails into her thigh to stop herself from screaming at him. She remembered her mother's words, "A lady's armor is her courtesies."

Lynette forced herself calm down. She spared him a quick glance, acknowledging him. Then she started thinking of his motives. He was known for doing things himself when he couldn't risk others flunking it and ruining whatever chances he had of emerging victorious. She would be rich enough to support the North. He was older than her. She would only have to manage him for a few years before old age claimed him.

She was lying to herself, with that. One look at him, and Lynette knew that there was much more to the man than well thought out strategies and battleplans and gold.

A man, he remained.

She would become a wife, and a woman, by his hand.

Trying to reel her fear in, Lynette unwrapped her clenched fists from the material of her dress and stood up gracefully. She walked to the fireplace and warmed herself by the flames. She looked for answers in the embers but found none and squared her shoulders. Exhaling slowly, knowing he was watching her, let her head fall forward. The smooth length of the back of her neck was bared to him and she knew he would not miss the significance.

It was the first time she had lowered her head in submission around him.

"That is the second time you have turned your back on me, _wolf_."

His voice once more betrayed nothing and she felt anger surge in her veins. She turned quickly and glared at him so harshly that lesser men would have cowered away. Her voice remained steady when she spoke, but the bite of defiance was still there, "I was baring my neck, _lion_. I believe the act holds some significance to both our houses."

Tywin Lannister regarded her from his seat, with her fiery eyes and feminine posture, straight and lady-like. Irony embodied, he mused. Tywin was sure that he was in for a thing or two. It seemed there was more to the Lady Stark than the demure daughter of a traitor that swore fealty to a hated king to protect her sister.

"Yes, it does," he responded just as coldly, his serious mask of indifference rammed into place again as soon as he realized that he had let his emotions slip into his eyes even for a second.

"When is the wedding, then?" she asked timidly, her defensive stance turned submissive. She was nervous, he understood why. He was a formidable man with a reputation that preceded him. Her mind must be going to dark places at the thought of being married to him and what that entailed. She was beginning to lose her iron resolve.

For some reason, seeing her reduced to the shell of a person she was whenever his grandson would speak to her, made him feel – dare he think it, guilty?

The Lion of Lannister didn't feel guilty.

"Three weeks from today, Lady Stark."

He expected her to put up more of a fight. And here she was, accepting his word as law. After her little outburst the previous night, he was pleased to see her rational approach to problems, but now she looked defeated. Thankfully, when she spoke to him again, she was one step ahead and was already trying to accept the knowledge that she could do nothing about the development.

"I assume the King has agreed to it, or will?"

The Hand nodded to her and she nodded back, lost in thought. There was a new anger in her voice when she clipped, "May I leave?"

Tywin stood from his seat and approached her. His steps were precise, deliberate, and calculated to the millimeter. She knew he meant to intimidate her by stopping right in front of her, so she raised her eyes to his and held her ground, determined to irritate him so much he would abandon the notion of marrying her himself and let one of his sons deal with her.

He took one of her pale hands in his gloved ones and with a clear look into her eyes, raised the slight appendage and kissed the skin. She allowed him, barely containing the urge to rip herself away from the heat that emitted from his body and into her front.

"Good day, my lady."

Regaining her composure, for her breath seemed to quicken, she left the room and let her feet carry her down to the steps of the Tower. It shocked her, because there was no possessive tone in the title.

Sighing, Lynette lost herself in the library and started reading.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Again, thank you for reading! Lynette's character is a complicated one. Her and Tywin's relationship is an even stranger thing. Enjoy the ride!\


	3. Chapter 3

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 3: Cynical musings

 _The snowflakes that fell onto her windowsill all had different shapes. She thought about how people were different shapes. Perhaps the people all had their own snowflake._

 _She was four, a fat little toddler with big eyes and a dark mop of curls on her head that flowed behind her like a flag when she ran on her pudgy little legs. Deciding that dawn was only a few moments away even though it was just passed midnight, she ran to her parent's room._

" _Papa?" she murmured quietly. There was no answer._

 _She looked about the room and left when there was only a small shape on the bed on the side her mother slept in. Trotting to her father's study, little Lynette stood on her tippy toes to reach the heavy handle of the door and whined when she couldn't reach it. She gave it a sloppy kick when it wouldn't budge._

 _A chuckle resounded from behind her._

" _Papa!"_

 _Quick as lightening, Lord Eddard swept his daughter into his arms and blew a raspberry into her stomach. She shrieked with laughter and dug her short fingers into his beard. She lay her head on his strong shoulder and breathed the scent of his hair into her nose. It immediately calmed her even if she couldn't identify it._

" _Hello, my Lynette."_

 _Smiling, the Lord of Winterfell carried his daughter back to her nursery and lay her in her bed tenderly. He tucked her in as delicately as he could with his callous hands and brushed a curl off her forehead. He kissed her head and whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion, "Sleep well, little wolf."_

" _Love you, Papa."_

 _Ned exited the room after checking for monsters at every corner and shadow, only to find that the monsters that lurked in the dark corners of his mind couldn't get to her. He sighed tiredly and felt his heart contract gratefully at her sincere words._

 _His little daughter._

 _Already bewitching men, at such a young age. He smiled when he walked back to his bedroom but stopped in front of the door. Instead of making Catelyn angrier he slept in his study. 'Damn you, Rheagar Targaryen', he thought before he fell asleep, 'damn you.'_

* * *

Lynette was pacing.

The floors of the library in the Red Keep were marked with her footsteps, up the one isle and down the next. She didn't know how long she had been walking, but she needed to do something other than think. Reading didn't help anymore, and she didn't want to think of her predicament.

Her mind was in turmoil and her heart was palpitating in her chest. She felt her skin crawl with every turn she made and was thankful that the library seemed to be never ending. She wondered if she could get lost and never be found again, so that she could escape the Keep and the people in it. So that she could escape him.

Tywin Lannister was an unforgiving man. She often wondered if there wasn't some Targaryen in him. Maybe that was why his heart was set on being remembered as more than his sires.

He was the greater son of lesser sires.

And he was to be her husband. She was no fool. He would claim her as his and take her to his bed the moment the bedding ceremony was announced. He had no time for follies and frivolous tears. He would have the same, cold, 'get it done' attitude toward her she was sure.

Lynette laughed at herself

She saved her sister from marrying a dwarf, who was a good man if one could look past his deformity and sold herself to an old man in the process. 'At least he is not fat, like Robert,' she mused and shook her head to rid herself of her morbid thoughts.

Cersei would have many things to say. She would threaten Lynette with death and torture even if she was promised to the Hand, even if he so happened to be her father.

Tyrion would understand why she did it, because he always analyzed the situation before passing judgement. He was intelligent - she was sure he wouldn't hate her for protecting her blood.

What would her mother think if she heard of the match? Would she lose faith in her eldest daughter? Would Robb brand her a traitor? Would the North hate her for marrying a Lannister, and Tywin at that?

Lynette never expected to marry for love. She always knew that she would marry for duty and nothing more. As with her parents, love would grow from a strategic alliance between houses.

She hated the world for treating women like commodity in that respect.

If she had been told she would marry a man that was three times her age, her enemy in every way when she was a young girl of eleven sitting with her mother, she would have laughed and told everyone that listened that her lord father would never allow it to happen.

He was dead now.

The King would allow it, she knew it. The little prick didn't like her because she could take beatings with a straight face and not a word of complaint, unlike her sister who would beg and plead and cry. It surely made him feel strong, beating a helpless girl.

Cursing in her mind, she went to bed and wished that the nightmare of a day would turn out to be a dream and she would be alright. Lynette knew that there were worse men than Tywin Lannister. She should be happy she was not being married off to some foreign lord of the king's choosing. If she wed the Lion of Lannister, surely, she would see her beloved Winterfell again.

Letting weakness take hold for a minute, she cried softly and fell asleep.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

A short one, yes. It is the breath before the plunge. Keep reading, please.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 4: Cold feet

 _Her feet beat harshly on the stone corridors as she ran, fast and sure._

 _Lynette was playing tag, running away from her brother Robb who was it. His hands swiped at wind behind her back and she squealed with childlike joy every time she evaded his attacks. The Stark children were playing, along with some of the stable boys and the servants. It was a great game; great fun and a great distraction from her parents' arguments._

 _They were increasing in volume and intensity and occurred twice as often._

 _Ever since Jon, her mother refused to let Papa hold her._

 _Ever since Jon, her mother refused to tell Papa she loved him._

 _Lynette knew her father was hurt, but the way he looked at Jon, was the same way he looked at her, with love in his wise grey eyes. Why was he different then, if her father loved him too?_

 _Her mother scowled at her when she asked. Told her to go sew. Slammed the door of her solar. Lynette remembered hearing a smash._

 _Instead of sewing, she scampered around the castle in search of her father. He was sitting in the Godswood, sharpening Ice. It was a jolly big sword and she could never lift it. Father told her to leave swords alone with a stern glare but a pleased glint in his eyes._

" _Papa?" she asked timidly and approached him. His shoulders were shaking but she didn't say anything because mother said that men didn't cry._

" _Hello, my Lynette."_

 _She took her place before him and smiled up at him. She loved her father and he loved her. She was sad when she saw him sad. Her little hands raised themselves to his face and brushed the water away. They weren't tears. Her father didn't cry._

" _Is there something wrong with your eyes, Papa?"_

 _She remembered his hearty laugh, deep and from the stomach with his cheeks pulled apart by a smile. The sight of him smiling made her smile, too. The way his eyes lit up when he was laughing made him seem younger and free, from duty and the actions of Rheagar Targaryen and the glares his wife shot him. If only his little daughter could rule the world, he mused. She would heal it, with her wolf-like courage._

" _No, little wolf," he mumbled and smoothed her hair away from her forehead with a hand too rough to touch her, his little daughter. She deserved a man that would treat her like glass one day. He swore to make her an appropriate match, even if the thought of her marrying made him want to vomit and kill things._

" _Papa is there something wrong with Jon?"_

 _So innocent._

" _No, little wolf," he murmured, stood up and took her small hand in his after he sheathed Ice, "he is special, just like you."_

 _He kissed her forehead, "I love you, my little wolf."_

 _She remembered smiling toothily up at her father and running back to Winterfell with joyous giggles dancing in the wind behind her._

* * *

Lynette sat up suddenly.

She scrambled off her bed, groped about in the darkness and lit a candle. The flame of the flint burnt her fingers and she would have dropped the candle if she wasn't so delirious. Her father was here! He was alive!

 _I love you, my little wolf._

Lynette flung on a dressing gown _._ Smiling, she ran out of the room, down the hall and out of her quarters. She passed the kitchens and laundry, the armory and the cells. She ran, down to the courtyards and over the bridges, following the voice, trying to catch it. After a while, the halls were unfamiliar, but the voice was hauntingly familiar and her longing to find it, trumped her trepidation.

She just ran.

And ran.

And ran.

 _I love you, my little wolf._

Lynette was laughing, gloriously happy. She was following the voice, it was so close, echoing around her and through her head. Her father was alive.

Just around the corner, she thought. Just there, around the corner, he would be waiting and would catch her in his strong arms. He'd have Arya with him, the little wild sister she loved and he would take her and Sansa away to Winterfell. He'd call her his Lynette, his wolf-child. Her father was so close.

 _I love you, my little wolf._

When she flew around the corner, breathless and with flushed cheeks. The blood was pounding in her veins. She was smiling so wide she feared her cheeks would split in two. It was the first time she was truly happy in King's Landing.

"Papa!"

Her voice echoed across the walls and danced over the parapets. Her vision returned to her, her limbs relaxed and obeyed her commands. A smile rested pleasantly on her mouth and she stepped forward to the little wooden bridge, expecting to see her father standing there with a smile on his face and his arms ready to shield her from the world.

She saw spikes instead.

And heads.

Her father's lifeless eyes stared back at her, bloodshot and dull, the life gone from them and the dark hair on his head matted and buzzing with maggots. It was a gruesome picture, too horrid for her to look away. The warmth in his eyes were gone, blood was splashed all over his cheekbones and his nose was broken. The bloody mess where his head was attached to his neck made her stumble.

Lynette screamed and fell to her knees.

 _I love you, my little wolf._

The voice was persistent now, cracked and gurgling. The head started moving, as if it were alive and the mouth twisted into a gruesome smile.

 _I love you, my little wolf._

Lynette started sobbing and screaming deliriously, clawing at the wood beneath her, drawing haggard marks over the wood and breaking her nails. She knelt there, as the unforgiving sun rose into the sky and cast its rays over the Keep. Lynette was wailing and crying and begging the gods to give her strength, but it never came.

The heir of Winterfell, Lynette, the daughter of a Tully and a branded traitor, dragged herself closer to the edge of the bridge. The way down was long, and she longed for the sweet release of death. The little wolf missed her father and her little sister and her mother, Winterfell and the Northern cold. She just wanted it to be over.

She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

She was screaming when arms encircled her waist and pulled her away from the edge, roughly dragging her away from her father's head and the mocking words that were repeating themselves in her head.

Tears, snot, and blood was pouring over her face, onto her dressing gown and her sleeping slip. Her bare feet were bleeding from their rough journey – it had been a long time since she had been without shoes and she had grown soft. Her fingers were bleeding and jaggedly cut, but she didn't feel anything. All she saw was Papa, as he was, dead and without a body, mocking her with words she longed to hear him say once more but never would.

 _I love you, my little wolf._

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Oh, the drama! I forgot one of those page break lines on the previous chapter... Apologies. x


	5. Chapter 5

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 5: Scratchy sheets and bruised egos

The sheets were scratchy.

Even if the two elder Stark sisters were no more than glorified hostages in King's Landing, Lynette still had soft sheets on her bed. The ones her body was enveloped in were uncomfortable and they made her skin itch.

Lynette forced her eyes open and took in her surroundings. She was lying on a bed in the middle of a large room, decorated with richly colored drapes and rugs. The sheets were neither white nor cream, but a strange in between color. The wolf heard movement, footsteps. Voices carried through the wood of the door.

She took stock of herself. In a night slip still, with bandages on her hands and her feet.

The world spun a little when she tried to stand up, but she held onto the bed post. Lynette steadied herself against a set of drawers and stumbled to the door. The wood was dark and rich, polished to perfection and supported her weight well. The pounding in her head intensified and she squeezed her eyes shut to alleviate some of the pressure.

Her hands were weak as she tried to move the door handle. She felt herself begin to panic when she thought it was locked but found that the door swung open easily when she pressed harder. Lynette came face to face with Varys, the eunuch.

"My Lady, I am relieved to see you well."

The Stark stood there, staring at him as if he grew a second head. She was in a slip that barely reached her calves and hair that surely had seen better days. She didn't care for her state of undress, he was a eunuch after all. Lynette followed him out of the room with the scratchy sheets. Her legs were shaking and she could not stop herself from collapsing on the chair.

Lynette met the Spider's eyes. Her head was still swimming.

"Lord Varys" she started and gratefully accepted the cup of water he offered her, "where am I?"

The eunuch smiled slowly at her, before he brightly answered, "My Lady Stark, you are in my private healer's chambers. He has been tending to your… illnesses for five days."

"Five days?!" she exclaimed. Why had she been sleeping on scratchy sheets for five days? What did Sansa think? Was she alright? Had the King poisoned them?

Varys inclined his head to her, refilled her cup before he spoke again, beating her to her questions, "Your sister Sansa has been by your side as often as she was allowed, until the healer sent her away for fear she would perish with you."

A flash of dread swept through her. Lord Tywin. He surely heard of her … illnesses as Varys had so respectfully put it. There was movement behind her, and a boy appeared from somewhere. He was barely older than seven with dark hair and eyes. He whispered something in Varys' ear. The eunuch drew his hands from the voluminous robes he was wearing and he produced an apple. The child took it and scampered away just as quickly as he came.

"A strange thing, Lord Varys, that you would let a guest witness your methods." Lynette murmured dryly and took another gulp of water. She didn't care that she was being crude, and continued, "Am I to suspect every orphan in King's Landing?"

A sinister smirk crossed the eunuch's face and a darkness settled about him, as he whispered, "Not just in King's Landing, my lady."

There was a pointed knock on the door. It was short, sharp.

She saw out of the corner of her eyes that Varys raised himself to speak to whomever required the services of the Master of Whispers and reclined back into her chair. She was cold. The fire didn't warm her.

When footsteps sounded in the hall, strong footsteps, she looked up. Only one man had steps like that. She felt fear settle deep in her stomach and trepidation rise.

Tywin Lannister.

She wondered for a moment if he had wed his son to Sansa because he thought she might die. It wasn't uncommon for people to die after five days in a healer's room. Did he secure his claim to the North through her sister? Did he betray their agreement?

Lynette stood up despite her unsteadiness, ready to snap at him and curse his lies, but found that words stuck in her throat. Her eyes were drawn to the pin on his doublet, a hand clutching a circle. Her father bore that same pin. Lynette's heart clenched painfully in her chest. She narrowed her eyes and slowly eased them upwards from the pin, over fine a leather doublet and a stiff collar. A neck sprouted from the collar, giving way to a strong chin, then a thin but sensual mouth. High cheekbones dusted in a finely kept beard followed by the angry green-gold eyes of Tywin Lannister.

Lynette couldn't find words to say to Tywin, and he wasn't about to waste time by bantering about nonsense, so neither of them spoke, until another voice broke Lynette out of her reverie. It was Varys, the eunuch. The Master of Whispers made a shocked noise at her state of undress and quickly made her put on the dressing gown she wore earlier.

When was _earlier_?

When she was still an innocent Lords daughter? When 'traitor' wasn't whispered behind her back as she passed dignitaries in court?

When did Lynette Stark, the sweet naïve teenager of Winterfell die?

When was the Lynette Stark she was now born?

She smiled despite herself, when she noticed his eyes remained firmly above her shoulders. There was some respect in him yet, she was sure.

"Lady Stark. Awake at last."

That made Lynette shift her questioning eyes to the Lannister. His jaw was set and his mouth was in a firm line. He was angry. Lynette wondered why. Why was he here anyway, wherever 'here' was and the unnamed healer resided? She wanted to ask him, but for some reason, felt too tired to even glare at him for being so close to her.

Lynette tried to come to her senses and fortify herself, but she was in her nightclothes, without her armor of courtesies and eloquent anger. It was a terrible feeling, weakness. It was filling her and almost bubbled over the edge. Sighing, she set the cup on a table and looked at Varys, trying to ignore the Warden that sat mere feet away from her. The warmth he had about him was licking at her freezing skin, teasing it with heat just so that she felt even colder.

"What happened? I remember running, and then I …"

She trailed off, because it all blurred into tears from there. She remembered crying and voices. Fragments of people's feet pounding and angry shouting were all she could recall without making her head hurt.

Like venom, his voice made itself heard from the chair facing her. Lynette swallowed when he spoke, because the tone he used made her feel like a child.

"Then you tried to kill yourself by jumping from the walls!"

His voice was a thundering roar. She had never seen him angry, only the calm rage that seeped out of him whenever he was at court and felt as though he was surrounded by fools. He was talking loudly now, not screaming, but close to it. It made her feel even smaller, but she begged whoever was listening that he didn't see what she was doing.

Lynette was making herself hollow, as she did when Joffrey ordered her to be beaten. When he had Ser Meryn flog her. When he tied her to the foot of his bed and forced her mouth open to…

Her head started pounding again, and she dropped her eyes from his. She wanted to scream at him, she truly did. But she also wanted to curse him for being a Lannister and cry for everything that was wrong with the world. Lynette wanted to pout and stamp her foot petulantly and demand that she and her sister be returned to Winterfell.

She did nothing.

A tear slipped from her eye, a single silvery drop of pain. Tywin Lannister couldn't stomach tears, he had no time for them and was driven into an angry fit of sheer annoyance by the weakness behind them. Lynette forced her emotions into a hellish oblivion, to forget them, and brushed it away, putting on her mask before looking up at him again.

"I am shocked by your concerns, Lord Lannister. Do you doubt the integrity of a Northern heir so much?"

The Lion almost let go of his rage by her deadpan tone. She was learning the ways of the Game. That there were no rules and that losing meant death. But he quickly brushed his 'concern' away and snapped, "Do not toy with me, _girl_. You are not in the position to insult me and my assessments of people."

His tone was hard, like ice. She didn't flinch but stood taller and kept her eyes locked with his. The wolf wouldn't back down from the lion without fighting. She refused to be brought to her knees by the man in front of her. Even if he held power over her, Lynette knew she had to take back some of the control and make him see things her way.

"I told you I would marry you, _Lion_." she seethed, her pale cheeks flashing pink, "We Northerners tend to keep our word."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sat down and poured himself a cup of water. She remained standing in front of the fire. Her back was ramrod straight and her small fists were clenched by her waist. Truly, the Lion surmised, the embodiment of irony.

"And yet," he drawled, "you tried to end your life, in front of your father's severed head."

She sniggered cynically, a cold sound of pure hate. He didn't like the sound, it would have made lesser men piss themselves, he was sure. He calmly refilled his cup and drank from it again.

"I presume, Lord Lannister, that you have lost loved ones of your own in your life." she softly murmured, her voice far away and sad. She regarded him a moment before continuing, "I have never grieved for my father."

The way he sat, was intimidating. The way he dressed was intimidating. The tight set of his jaw was intimidating.

Lynette forced herself to keep herself standing, looking at him and studying his mannerisms.

Tywin couldn't help looking at her and the long shapely legs he saw through her transparent sleeping gown. The fire behind her illuminated her figure. He looked but did not leer. He appreciated her body without demanding possession of it. She was in pain, he could see it in her eyes. He knew Lynette's word was truth. He knew she loved her sister too much to let her suffer the consequences of her own failure. The honesty in her sarcastic voice made him frown slightly.

When he spoke next, his voice lost some, not all, of his venomous calm and had a warmth to it that soothed her freezing heart, "A traitor to the crown, however he was still your father, I concur, my lady."

A warning and compassion.

A strange combination.

She watched him from where she stood, trying to remain still as he set down his cup and raised himself to his feet. Lynette remained where she was standing, unmoving. He took her own cup from her and set it aside. Her hands were like ice.

His own rough hand was as hot as a blazing furnace.

Lynette gasped when the warmth he radiated curled its way around her frozen fingers. She righted herself with a well-placed cough that would have fooled the court. Tywin took her hands in his. There was a slow, virginal shiver that tore its way down her back. He noticed and would have smirked at her if he were twenty years younger. Now, he didn't have time for such nonsense.

"You are cold."

A wry smile crept into her eyes. He took a step forward, and she took one back. Anger washed over him when she tensed as if waiting for a blow. He noticed. She masked her fear and stood still when he advanced again. The Old Lion swung her up into his arms and crossed the lounge.

Lynette clutched at his arms, terrified he would let her fall and bade her racing heart to either stop or slow down. He was so deliciously warm. She couldn't help but inch her way closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. The effect was instantaneous. She felt heat surge through her fingers, up her arms and over her shoulders.

Tywin's steps were sure and steady as he walked to the room she had exited. Lynette suddenly felt self-conscious and could feel a blush rising on her white cheeks. He swung the door open and slipped inside the room. He set her on the scratchy sheets and gently pulled the dressing gown off her shoulders. He turned away when she curled up under the covers.

She expected him to deposit her and leave, but the Lion raised a hand to her forehead to check for fever instead. Lynette was feeling like a child, but she was thankful for the kind touch. It had been a long time since someone had touched her without malice or cruel intent.

"I am… sorry."

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. But he said them and looked her as he did. Tywin couldn't do much else to comfort her and was too guarded to hold her. Lynette's gaze was so direct. The grey eyes that sliced through him like a sword piercing flesh. Somehow, the simple words seemed to blanket all the torture she had suffered in the Capitol.

His deep baritone smoothed over the wounds on her body and caressed them into nonexistence. Lynette could see black dancing in front of her eyes. She was going to pass out, she was sure. There were so many words on her tongue but before she could utter them, her eyes fell shut and she succumbed to the darkness.

Tywin shook his head, stood up and pulled the blankets over her shoulders. The harsh material made him frown. Sighing, he left the room and shut the door behind him with a soft 'click'.

When she woke the next day, new linens were folded neatly, laying on the bedside table. They were pearly white, as soft as a dove's wing and clean. A note lay on the silky material. It was a hand-written note.

 _L,_

 _Never do that again._

 _-T_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Let me know what your thoughts are. thank you for reading this far...


	6. Chapter 6

**The Collared Wife**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 6: Old women's wisdom

Sansa was clutching at her arm as they walked through the gardens. It had been a few days since she had been released from the fine room that was Varys' infirmary.

Her feet healed and the cuts on her fingers slowly knitted themselves together. The clear air of the garden was doing wonders to her pounding head. The king hadn't beaten her for a week. It was a strange feeling to be spared the pain of Ser Meryn's hand or switch. She assumed her recent trip to Varys' healer made the king afraid his plaything would die and he wouldn't be able to inflict pain on her anymore.

Lynette and Sansa quietly walked through the gardens, followed by the knights appointed to 'protect' them. Ever since the incident on the Wall of Traitors, there were four guards in Lannister colors that followed Lynette wherever she went. She liked to assume that it was caring.

To the capacity of Tywin Lannister, anyway.

She had yet to tell her sister that she was marrying him. She had told her sister she would be marrying a Lannister but hadn't specified _which_ Lannister. Lynette knew that the moment she told her sister of the development, that she would cry and ask her not to give herself to the man.

Lynette, of House Stark, had made her choice.

It was better to marry a man of such power on some of your own terms, than marry him by force. Sure, she hadn't known she would marry the Old Lion when she went to him with her proposal that night, but it was her idea, and that was enough to soothe her.

"Have you a dress to wear to my wedding, Sansa?"

The younger Stark smiled and looked at her sister with love in her eyes, before she answered with the excitement any young woman had over a new dress, "Yes, Linnie. It's lovely. But I'm sure you will outshine every one of the people there. You are the bride, after all."

It made Lynette uneasy to hear her sister's clear envy. Did Sansa really think that Lynette would abandon her to the mad little idiot who sat on the Iron Throne? Did she not know of the pains that Lynette endured to keep her sister alive?

Shaking her head to clear it, she smiled when they approached Lady Olenna Redwyne's pavilion. She stopped her sister, turned to the guards behind her and spoke to the one with the blue eyes. His name, she found out, was Rogoff. He was the one who dragged her from the edge of the walls.

"Rogoff take my sister back to the Keep. Deliver her to her room, please. I must speak with the Lady Olenna."

He nodded his head respectively and made motion for Sansa to accompany him. He smiled sweetly at the young woman and marched her back to the Keep, regaling her with tales of wars and fair knights with white hair, his voice smoother than silk.

Lynette straightened her gown and grimly approached the Queen of Thornes. It was a strange enough thing to meet a woman as well-learned and outspoken as Olenna Redwyne, and she had a reputation that preceded her. She was a sharp woman with a mind for strategy. Shrewd, strong willed and rich, there was nothing she couldn't accomplish.

"Lady Olenna," she said, inclined her head and waved to the chair, "a moment of your time?"

The old woman's eyes twinkled, and her smug smile turned pleasant when Lynette sat down. The girl reminded her of her younger self. She still had to grow some claws, but for now, had to make do with sharp nails. The wolf sat daintily, folded her hands in her lap and smiled at Olenna.

"Hello, dear girl. I heard of your grievance. I trust you are well?"

Nodding, Lynette spoke quietly, "Yes, Lady Olenna. I am well. May I trouble you for some advice?"

That made the old woman sit straighter in her chair, her eyes lighting with mischief. She smirked lewdly at Lynette, "Would that advice have anything to do with Lord Tywin?"

Blush stained Lynette's pale cheeks despite her wishes to remain stoic. Her hands scuttled over her skirts. The old Queen raised herself on shaky limbs before standing up and pulling Lynette along with her, back through the quiet strength of the gardens. Growing strong. Such peaceful words. And as Lady Olenna put it, a horrible bore.

They walked for a time before either spoke. Lynette had Lady Olenna by the arm, to support the woman as they walked slowly through the garden.

"I assume you want to know how to prepare yourself for your wedding night then?"

Lynette blushed again. Olenna was forward and nonchalant, smug and mischievous. It was refreshing, but as answer, Lynette could only squeeze the Lady's arm because she couldn't voice her nerves. Olenna patted her hand firmly before she sat the girl down on a bench far from the epicenter of the garden in a remote part thereof beside the Godswood.

"Well, I'll have you know, that in his prime, Tywin Lannister was a roaring beast of a lover. Before his wife died, she used to regale me with tales of the wonders of the Lion of Lannister's tongue," she chuckled at Lynette's red cheeks and smiled at her kindly, "He won't hurt you, little love. You might even enjoy him. I don't know if he would trump you previous gentleme- "

Lynette stuttered out a shocked refusal, "No, Lady Olenna, I have never… I am a maid."

The Queen of Thorns stopped suddenly and made a face, one of surprise and disbelief, before she tutted, "How old are you? Eighteen? Still a maid? Good heavens, girl, however did you manage it?"

Lynette couldn't help her embarrassment at the Lady's forwardness, but somehow made herself look her in the eye, before she said, "I never had cause to, Lady Olenna."

A kindness settled over the old woman and she sat down beside Lynette to take both the girl's hands in her own. Her palms were soft and wrinkled, but the comfort they gifted her was delightful. She smiled slowly and touched the Stark's cheek wistfully. There was a mist that appeared in the Lady's eyes before she blinked and it was gone.

"Now listen to me, Lynette, and listen well. Tywin Lannister is a hard man, he has endured much for the sake of his family. The loss of his wife made him into the man you see today. He loved Joanna Lannister like she was his reason for existence. Try to understand that being with you, lying with you, will make him miss her. I don't normally entertain the heartbroken, but Tywin will respect you in the very least if you stay true to yourself."

Lynette bowed her head to take a shaky breath in, "One can only hope, Lady Olenna. I am not afraid of him, I am just afraid of the unknown." She squeezed the woman's hands and whispered brokenly, "Forgive me, Lady Olenna. I know you and he both hate tears."

She nodded her head, but spoke soothingly, "You want your father to give you away and your mother to talk to you about this."

Lynette met her dark eyes, swallowed the lump in her throat and gave the woman a sad smile, "We all want a lot of things we can't have, Lady Olenna. I thank you for your time."

Lynette floated out of the gardens to the library, where she immersed herself in a book of Aegon and his dragon, The Dread.

Time floated away, before the door was banged open and someone called her name, "Lady Stark!"

It was Ser Meryn Trant.

Lynette knew better than to try and hide from him, so she stood up and went to the Kingsguard. She was scared, but knew that she should not resist, for Sansa's sake.

"The King summons you to the Throne Room, wolf-bitch."

When she finally returned to her chambers that night, her body bruised and still reeling from mistreatment, she knew that whatever reprieve she had been granted because of her injury was now over. The King had Ser Meryn beat the backs of her legs with a reed because she refused to say, "My father is a traitor."

When she got to her room, her guards supporting her and Rogoff helping her into her bathing chamber. He almost carried her in, her legs unable to fully support her weight without help. He called for a maid, and a hot bath before he left with a soft smile and a promise to protect her door.

Her sleep was fitful.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank **you** for reading this far!


	7. Chapter 7

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 7: Yellow dresses go well with broken dreams

It was a few days before the wedding would take place and Lynette was tired from her final fitting with the dressmakers. Her sister was bubbling about her, too excited for Lynette's comfort. She kept Sansa with her whenever she could. Her thighs were still hurting from Joffrey's little fit.

There was a sharp realization that settled over Lynette when she saw herself in the mirror, dressed in white. She was getting married.

To _Tywin_ fucking _Lannister_.

One look at her sister's pale face and birdlike wrists, was enough for Lynette to assure herself that she was doing the right thing. Margery requested Sansa for a walk about the gardens. Lynette allowed Sansa to go with the future queen and spent her days listening to Olenna Redwyne and her many tales.

It was a few hours until the last meal of the day and the Queen Regent had requested that Lynette meet her for supper. The Stark didn't know why, but knew that she should never show weakness around her. Cersei had always been more interested in Sansa, but had managed to throw in a few nasty comments when Lynette was near. There was some power in her, even if the people were all beginning to flock to Margery's side. Lynette didn't allow herself to endure Cersei's presence for more than necessary. The woman was fierce.

Fiercely tyrannical.

Lynette called for a maid to help her dress. She chose a lighter, flowing gown of yellow silk that Margery had given her. The Tyrell had claimed that it was too _conservative_ for her. It was a different style from what she was used to wearing, but Lynette knew that it would be rude to scoff at the gift of a future queen.

She liked the color, anyway.

The Stark, accompanied by her three guards and Rogoff, wound her way through the twisting corridors of the Red Keep to the Queen Regent's room. Rogoff had become a friend. Quite an elevation from bodyguard.

The door was held open for her. Lynette entered and dipped her head to Cersei. She was sitting at her table, a glass of wine already half consumed at the edge of it. She didn't look up until Lynette was standing in front of her.

"You summoned me, your grace?"

Cersei smiled coldly up at her and took another drink. She beheld the Stark a moment before refilling her glass. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke, her Lannister eyes swimming and unfocused, "Yes, Lynette. I summoned _you_ , the bitch my father is to wed."

Lynette forced herself to remain impassive, as the Queen Regent continued.

"How did you manage to convince him, eh? Not that it matters. I suppose men of power would fuck anything if it gave them more power."

Oh, so she would be insulted at a dinner table. Lannisters didn't know how to receive guests, it would seem. Lynette didn't move, stayed stoic and spoke with sweetness dripping from her tone, "I believe congratulations are also in order, your grace. I trust Ser Loras would make as fine a husband as he is a knight."

Lynette wanted to smirk. Cersei lacked the parts that Loras liked. The thought of the mighty Cersei Lannister being wed off to a knight who preferred the company of men, made Lynette want to chuckle.

Cersei was seething, her nostrils flaring. She was a lioness, straight to the core. Lynette refused to back down. If she could handle a conversation with Tywin Lannister, she could handle his daughter. She wasn't nearly as smart as she thought she was. The game of chess was much easier with Cersei than it was with Tywin. All Lynette needed to do with Cersei was anger her and steer her in a relatively destructive direction and she would do the rest herself.

They didn't eat. Cersei was cynical when she invited Lynette to sit. She poured the Stark a glass of wine. Lynette enjoyed the angry glint in the royal's eyes when she didn't take a drink.

"Your wedding night will be a bloody affair. I trust a woman of your age will know the mechanics thereof. My father is a ruthless man. I suspect you won't be able to walk the next time I see you."

Her soft smile didn't falter and Lynette wasn't going to give up the ground she had gained. Her voice was sweeter than honey, but her words were colder than Northern ice, "Yes, your grace. He _is_ a ruthless man. As are his children we would share through marriage. I have always wanted a blonde daughter."

Cersei looked as if Lynette had struck her. She gave a haughty toss of her head, "If you ever call me your daughter, wolf-bitch, I'll have you murdered."

They stared at one another. Angry green eyes staring contemptuously into cold grey ones. Lynette was a cold beauty and her face didn't betray a single emotion. But her inner being was shaken by the Queen's malicious words. When Lynette left the chambers, leaving the Queen Regent fuming behind her and her own stomach growling, she felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders.

Rogoff met her at the door and took her arm. They walked off into the Keep. His blue eyes were twinkling and his voice was teasing. Such a contrast to the deadly grace with which he walked and the two razor-sharp swords that hung at his sides.

"A wolf to wed a lion. Almost as bizarre as a dragon taking a wolf as its bride."

She patted Rogoff's strong arm through the metal armor he wore and shot him a smile, "You and your riddles. If you have such a smooth tongue, perhaps you should have married. From what Lady Olenna tells me, it is a great asset to possess."

His laugh bounced off the walls and his gloved hand squeezed her fingers.

The sun was just about to set. Margery and Joffrey were walking in the gardens below them. Lynette smirked to herself. If Cersei could see her in the gardens with the great Tywin Lannister, it would certainly send a message. She stopped and Rogoff's blue eyes caught her own in question.

"Tell the Hand to come to the garden, please."

She floated away before he could protest.

* * *

To say Tywin Lannister was unimpressed was an understatement.

Lynette waited for him in front of a big fountain. The sun was going down and it bathed the Keep above them in a fiery glow. It made Lynette wonder how the world would have changed if Rheagar Targaryen had won and he would be on the Iron Throne. Her parents would be killed if he had won. She would never have been born.

The crunch of purposeful steps broke her out of her reverie. She _almost_ smiled. Her face fell when she realized just how easy it was for her to discern his steps

"Why are you so adamant on taking me from my work?"

Lynette didn't bother to turn around. She picked a white daisy from the flowerbed that surrounded the great stone fountain and leisurely brought it to her nose. Her teasing tone made him shake his head in amusement despite himself.

"Nobody dragged you out here, Lord Lannister."

He made a _humph_ , but came to a standstill beside her. He tucked his hands behind his back and stood gazing at the landscape. Lord Lannister looked like a true lion, then, lording over his kingdom. This time, Lynette did smile.

At the hilarity of her forwardness.

Neither of them said anything of the grand sight. They both admired it in silence. Lynette was about to forfeit her initial plan and run for the safety of Rheagar's stall, but knew that Lady Olenna would not have it if she had squandered such an opportunity for the sake of her frayed nerves. Margery often told her that Olenna encouraged the young Tyrell to seduce her way through the Capitol.

Lynette was scared of intimacy. Her near rape and Theon's unwanted attention had seen to that. She dealt with Theon's wandering hands, with steel and fists, but could not cut out his tongue or gag him in order to escape his words. The riot that had her rattled to the very core, was the first time a man died by her hand.

She shoved fear to the back of her head, summoned Olenna's onyx eyes to the forefront of her mind to give her courage and spoke again, "Would you walk with me, Lord Hand?"

His eyes beheld her strangely. She ignored it. Lynette smiled pleasantly at him until he held out his arm and let her hand rest in the crook of his elbow.

"The gardens are grand in this light."

Tywin wanted to be vexed. She had sent a guard to summon him, the same who had come barreling into his solar to inform him of her injuries a week ago. His mind had immediately strayed to dark places. The concern that bubbled through him was a confusing one. He didn't know if he was worried for her, or for his investment, or for both.

He left his desk and marched down the steps to the gardens. When he saw her by the fountain, the worry seeped out of him. Tywin shook it off. He had no time for such nonsense anyway.

"You had me leave important matters of state to speak about gardens?" His drawl was lighter than he intended it to be.

Lynette laughed, then. Her cheeks stretched and her eyes crinkled with delight. It was a shattering sight. Better than the gardens and the fantastical atmosphere that the dying light bathed them in.

Tywin turned and took her with him, obliging her and walking. She kept up with his long strides. Lynette swept up the path by his side, satisfied she had succeeded in proving her point to the Queen Regent when a crash sounded from her chambers above. Cersei had obviously seen them from the windows of her chambers and threw the remainder of her wine against a wall in frustration. Lynette felt the glowing feeling of triumph settle in her belly.

"I made a mindless comment, my lord. It is customary for two people engaging in conversation to do so as an introduction to more pressing matters."

She heard him suck in a breath. His warmth was so near her, enfolding the side of her body with a tantalizing feeling of security. Lord Lannister stopped for a second to regard her. She was avoiding his gaze purposefully, finding the flowers a welcome distraction to her toils.

"I am not well-versed in mindless chatter, Lady Stark."

His response was airy, but she had grown somewhat used to his statement-warnings and his non-answer answers. She wasn't about to give up so easily.

"Neither am I, Lord Lannister."

There. He _had_ to say something in return. He would have to agree to her clear acknowledgement of his own talent. Tywin Lannister admired her through the corner of his eye. She was watching him, through her own peripheral vision. _Smart girl,_ he mused to himself, stomping on the proud glow in his chest, _always keeping an eye on the enemy._

"What do you enjoy doing to pass time, other than running away from armed escorts and insulting dignitaries with flowery speech, my lady?"

Lynette didn't falter. She assumed that he wasn't above warning-questions either. Maybe she had to expect anything with him, as well as the rest of King's Landing. Her answer was demure enough to make him assume she was apologetic.

"I enjoyed drawing, my lord, when I was still at my father's ancestral home."

The chess pieces moved, again. The board was set. An even match.

The Great Lion placed a hand over the pale one that was resting in his elbow. She would have smiled if her victory over their verbal battle had been secured by something other than mention of her beloved father.

His voice held a strange lilt. Not impressed, not surprised, just a combination of the two. Tywin let his other hand return to rest on the pommel of his sword. A natural pose. Somehow, he was not suited for the position of Hand, even if he did a good job of it. The way is fingers curled over the metal and leather was almost a second nature. He was a warrior. He was best suited with an army at his back, a warhorse beneath him and a sword in his hands.

Lynette wondered if he felt the same, but refrained from asking him. She kept his pace, even if she had to take three steps for every two he took.

"A strangely lady-like pursuit."

Lynette gave another breathy chuckle, before picking a different flower, a daffodil as yellow as the sun's rays, that matched her dress.

"Are you implying I am unlady-like, Lord Lion?"

"I know it to be a fact, Lady Stark."

It was his turn to smile at her. Lynette didn't pay much mind to the way his face looked when he smiled, but was instead drawn to the unmistakable warmth that entered his eyes. The golden spots in his eyes looked liquid and the green bits sparkled like peridot.

She looked up at the path they were treading on. It looked very familiar and Lynette knew that their short walk was coming to an end. He entertained her request, but kept it short. Typical Tywin Lannister.

"And you, my lord? With what do you entertain yourself?"

The smile on his face turned wistful and Lynette realized her mistake before he could chide her. He didn't entertain himself. His sole purpose was to establish a legacy and an empire for which he would be remembered.

She dared to tighten her fingers on his arm as they came to a stop in front of the fountain again.

"You don't entertain yourself, do you my lord? To entertain oneself would mean that a person had nothing to do in the first place. You are consumed with the legacy you mean to establish."

Her smile faded. Only a fool would assume that Tywin Lannister was trying to get to know her better. Only a fool would assume that he didn't have a dozen hidden agendas. Only a fool would assume that he didn't have a million other reasons for taking her for a stroll. She sobered up pretty quickly, much to his relief.

A cold look took up residence in her wintry eyes. Her nails were digging into the material of his doublet, straight through the undertunic he wore and into his skin.

"Tell me, Lord Hand, how do you intend to kill me after I have borne you the sons you so desperately require? Will you poison me like a weakling?"

Tywin narrowed his eyes but refused to get angry. Didn't she see? Couldn't she tell that he was too far gone to view her as an asset? Her laugh cleared up any doubt he had on the matter. Because Tywin Lannister, the Warden of the West and the Protector of Lannisport, forgot about his precious legacy the moment her tinkling laughter had graced his ears. It _scared_ him.

She was far from finished, her nails biting into him now. He allowed it, kept his eyes on hers.

Her shoulders were taut and she looked ready to throttle him, right there. Lynette was angry at herself for assuming. _Assuming_ got people killed in King's Landing. Her heart iced over and Lynette felt a grim sense of angry acceptance settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Tell me, Lord Tywin Lannister, will you have the stomach to swing the sword yourself? I am a fool for thinking I will ever be more to you than a broodmare."

She gently freed her hand from the crook of his elbow and smiled amiably up at him, her voice as sweet as saccharine, "I want you to know, Lord Lannister, that the North will never accept a southern rule. Because the North remembers. And winter is coming, for all of us."

She left him there, dropping the flowers in her path.

Lynette dropped all childish hopes for his affection right along with them.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank you again for reading! I will publish three new chapters by the end of the week. Happy reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**The Collared Wife**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

 _Author's note:_

If it was not clear before, the _italics_ are either memories or dreams. All of these occurred before Lynette went to Tywin in chapter one. Enjoy x

* * *

Chapter 8: A wedding for a wolf

The woman in the mirror was staunch, not exactly what a woman should be on her wedding day.

There was an obstinate voice in her head that told her not every woman married men like Tywin Lannister and that allowed her to justify her nerves.

Shae was pinning her hair up in an elaborate style that suited her tastes and Sansa was fiddling with the richly embroidered layers of her dress. Her future husband was kind to her in that respect. He sent for the best dressmaker in King's Landing and told her to satisfy his betrothed's demands with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The dress itself was beautifully simple. It was white, with inlaid silvery stitching that took the dressmaker a week to complete. The skirt was flowing, subtly decorated tastefully with lace and tulle. Tiny direwolves were stitched into the bodice and it was unnoticeable if you weren't close. The sleeves were made of fine lace and exposed her shoulders. Her breasts were forced into a corset so tight she felt as if her ribs were grating against each other, but she picked up her head and refused to complain.

Tywin Lannister would expect her to look good.

So, she would arrive and blow everyone's minds with how elegant she was made up and trump his expectations. She had to stay strong. She had to remain defiant for as long as possible.

She had to remain a Stark for as long as possible.

For after tonight, she would be a Lannister. Only by name, but never in heart, she would be a Lannister.

Her maiden cloak was in her father's colors, dark grey with mighty wolves woven into the fine material with fir scraping the floor in a train as she walked. She would make the court look at the house they had ruined before she was turned into a Lion.

One last 'fuck you', as Bronn had said with a smirk.

She agreed.

She wore no jewelry. Her neck and hands were unadorned. She was going to the man she was to marry, natural and devoid of pretense. She was going as Lynette, a frightened maid and not as a woman with a powerful name and a kingdom that would die for her. Her reflection looked back at her. It looked strange.

Lynette kept a brave face for her sister. But inside, she was scared. She was terrified of him, of being intimate with Tywin Lannister. She knew what was expected of her this night, and she was not afraid of her duty, but she was of the unknown. Tywin Lannister didn't abide fools or idiots. Luckily, she was neither one, but there was a deep and unfathomable fear in the core of her being.

She knew what it was. She was scared of the Northmen and what her marriage to a Lannister would bring them. She was scared of her mother and brother's accusations. She was terrified of what her father's ghost must be thinking, looking down at his little wolf, marrying the man who would most likely have killed him if his grandson hadn't ordered it.

Sansa was dressed to the nines, her beautiful face framed with red hair and her cheeks pale as fresh snow. She was beautiful. Lynette hadn't told her that she was marrying the Old Lion and not the Halfman. Her younger sister felt guilt plaguing her every waking step. Lynette didn't need to add to her sufferings.

Shae tied one last ribbon at her waist and Sansa sprayed some perfume onto her neck and her dress.

All pleasant niceties to Lynette who wanted nothing more than to rip off the wedding gown and flee King's Landing, never to return. She wanted her father to come into the room, with wisdom in his eyes and tell her that everything would be alright and that he would kill the man she was marrying if he so much as lifted a finger to her she didn't approve of.

It didn't happen.

The door remained shut and her father didn't come to rescue her.

Lynette raised her head, smiled at her sister once, and whispered, "Whatever happens, Sansa, try to remember I love you. Try to forgive me. All I wanted to do was keep you from hurt."

With that, she glared at herself in the mirror, told the scared girl staring back at her to stop mucking about and left the room with an air of dignity that only a woman of worth could have.

The doors of the Sept of Baelor looked so intimidating when she was finally in front of them. She wanted to hurl herself off the steps and let her head be dashed open on the stone below her.

A bell sounded, and then another joined in song, and before she could compose herself or pinch herself again, the doors swung open with a flourish and all eyes fixed on her. The Sept of Baelor was full of noblemen and dignitaries and people of importance. It mattered little to her. Her gaze was focused on the altar where the Septon stood. The hallway was parted and the people were all chattering and waiting to see the face of the woman who would marry the feared Lion of Lannister.

A small probe from behind her shocked her out of her stupor and when the march began to play, Lynette Stark forced her legs to co-operate. She dared not embarrass Tywin by fainting on the steps so she kept breathing deeply and glided into the Sept to stop just inside the doors. Standing there, were her father should have been standing, was none other than Lord Varys, Master of Whispers.

She had asked him to be there, as a silent support, for she knew Joffrey would give her away to his grandfather and sully her father's memory one more time. So, she walked ahead, accepted the arm of the mad Boy-king on her right and let him lead her down between the sea of people.

She lifted her head and found the green eyes of Tywin Lannister. Green, flecked with gold. He allowed some warmth to enter them, for a brief moment, to offer her his own pathetic version of comfort and held her gaze out of respect until she was standing in front of him.

When the doors opened with a flourish, the light that encased her slight figure made her seem like a phoenix emerging from flame. When she stepped down and began her walk up to the altar where he was waiting for her, Tywin could not deny that she looked beautiful.

He let himself look at her _properly_ , starting at her wild dark hair and moving downwards to her face. She was pale, like her sister and fellow countrymen. Her full lips were dusted in red and stood in sharp comparison to the frightened grey eyes that beheld him. Her cheekbones were high and regal, her neck impossibly graceful and smooth. The cloak she wore was a last honor to her father, dark grey with a snarling wolf on the back and streaked with silver. The gown he had paid for, less than he expected her to make him pay, was beautiful.

He cursed himself for looking at her shoulders and letting his eyes stray to the swell of her white breasts that strained against the bodice of her dress. Her waist was small, her hips were gently curved. She had strength about her, the way she held her shoulders and the way she moved screamed elegance. He heard from his eldest son that she was decent with a sword thanks to her brothers.

When he finished his study, he took in the whole picture, seeing how nervous she was underneath the careful mask of confidence that she forced into place whenever she was in court. Her jaw was tense. He could see her hands trembling even as she tried to hide it. No one else in the Sept noticed, but he did. Only because he was Tywin Lannister and he had made an effort to study her beforehand.

As he was looking at her, Lynette felt herself looking at him. He was handsome in his own right, she supposed. Older than her, yes, but still handsome. He looked intimidating, dressed in Lannister colors and adorned in gold and rubies. His shoulders were broad and strong and she noticed then, how he was only a head taller than her.

His doublet was finely woven, covered with the sigil of his house. His sword hung at his side, he dared not part from it, and his cloak was deep crimson finery.

Tywin Lannister was going to marry her.

He would have her wedded and bedded by this time tomorrow.

Lynette felt her courage faltering when the Septon started speaking. She said her vows flawlessly and dispassionately. He did the same. She swore that she would be his till the end of her days. He did, too.

It was only when the Septon stopped talking that she realized he would cloak her. She felt her heart crack and shatter when the Lion of Lannister's rough hands gently undid the clasp around her neck and let her maiden cloak crumple onto the floor. She met his eyes for a moment and turned around. She heard fabric being brandished and _almost_ flinched when the soft caress of silk touched her bare shoulders and she was symbolically brought under his protection.

A hand on her shoulder turned her back to face him.

"With this kiss," he started and stared into her eyes, deep and unyielding, as his calloused fingers tilted her face up to his, "I pledge my love."

Lynette swallowed and he felt her throat move under his hands as she spoke, "With this kiss, I pledge my lo-"

His lips were softer than she expected them to be. Lynette had never _really_ kissed anyone and was unsure whether she was allowed to touch him or not, so she curled on hand into the sleeve of the arm that held her chin up and let the other fist by her side. She remembered young stable boys and noblemen's sons that kissed her a few times. She was once again reminded of the fact that Tywin Lannister wasn't a boy, but in fact, a man.

The most powerful man in Westeros, to be exact.

There was no warmth and no passion between the two of them as they shared the kiss. None of the love that they had promised one another. It was duty, and duty was the death of all pleasure.

At least, he was gentle and slow enough to make her relax somewhat, but it was over almost as soon as it began and Lynette gratefully took the arm he held out to her, determined to leave the Sept with her dignity in tact and her eyes filled with the anger she felt the day her father was murdered and not tears.

They didn't speak on the way back to the Keep. They walked and smiled, well she did – Tywin just inclined his head, at people who cheered and waved and kept walking until the banquet suddenly appeared before her and she was punched in the gut by the sharp knowledge that they were wed now and she was legally no longer a wolf, but in fact the collared wife of a lion.

The wedding feast was grand, befitting a man of Tywin's status and even with all the fine food and deserts piled in small mountains before her, Lynette only drank a single cup of watered-down apple wine and ate a few grapes. Her nerves were on edge. She felt suffocated. The bedding ceremony would start as soon as the lords were drunk enough and she could do nothing but wait and stress.

Sansa was sitting beside Olenna Redwyne at a table in front of the married couple, and Lynette could see that her sister had been crying.

She decided to be selfish and ignore her younger sibling. Just for that night, anyway.

Tywin was sitting beside her, drinking the same beverage as she, but enjoying the food. He had held her chair for her, like a gentleman. She sat down, shot him a smile that the court would appreciate and tried to hold back tears. He was close to her, so close she could feel the glorious heat of his body seeping into her, even through the cloak he had put on her.

It was a grand thing, made of golden material, inlaid with rubies and gold thread and embroidered with a huge lion. All memory of her father was washed off her, her name was changed and she was forced to accept the new role as wife of the Hand and Lord of Casterly Rock.

 _After all_ , she admonished herself, _I had brought this on herself._

She longed for her mother to comfort her.

She longed for her father to lead her in the first dance.

Instead of crying she took another grape and ate it dispassionately. The music started to liven and gain in volume and she supposed she would have to dance with _someone_ posing as her father. If only the king didn't want to tarnish her father's name further…

He swaggered from his seat at the head of the table beside Tywin and held out his hand. He sneered when her angry eyes met his, "Dance with your king, Lady Lynette. We all know your father's headless corpse wouldn't do much good."

Forcing herself to smile sweetly, she took the king's proffered hand and let him lead her onto the dancefloor. She danced flawlessly, as did he. It was rather awkward, because she was a couple of inches taller than him and the Stark had to keep herself from glaring him into a pulp on the floor.

"You are a married woman now, Lady Lynette," he started, and she had to refrain from tripping the little bastard, "I will be sure to ask my grandfather for a go at you."

When she was about to pull away from him in disgust, his hand at her side twisted into her skin through her dress and forced her to stay put. He kept touching her inappropriately and kept his fingers pinching her side until her dancing was sloppy from the pain.

"We both now he'll enjoy that mouth of yours."

Memories of tears and shame crashed into her and Lynette had to physically restrain herself from hitting him then. She kept glaring down at him, refusing to back down. He just kept glaring back, and the harder her eyes became, the tighter his grip on her waist became. The harder he pinched, the angrier she got.

When the song finally ended, she was relieved to let Margery take her place in his arms.

Tywin stood up from his place and crossed the dancefloor to stand before her. His broad shoulders should have intimidated her but it didn't. His voice was deep, somewhat soothing in its pointed certainty, as he asked, "May I have this dance, my lady?"

She nodded her head first, then put her hand in his. The roughness of his hands against her skin made her sober up quickly and remember herself. She was his now.

To the hottest of the seven hells with the person who dared to think she was no longer a Stark.

She was, and by all the gods – Old, New or foreign, she would always be a Stark of Winterfell!

And even _Tywin_ fucking _Lannister_ , Hand of the King, Warden of the West and all the other bloody titles she was too angry to think of, couldn't change that.

Smiling silently, she stepped closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder. His hands found their place on her body and she bit back a squeak when his hands touched the spot Joffrey's hands had brutalized only moments before.

With a slow step forward, a calm hand on her bruised side and a serious look on his face, he danced them both around the room, his eyes never once leaving hers. The warmth that radiated off him in waves caressed her. He smelled like leather and ink, a soft undertone of cinnamon. It … _he_ smelled rather nice.

It calmed her some, but she couldn't ignore the twisted nervousness in her gut, even as the music faded and died down. Tywin led her to her seat again, sat her down and took a gulp of apple wine. He set the cup down, wiped his mouth and returned to staring at the crowd of people that were in front of him.

"Time for the bedding!"

It was Joffrey's hateful voice that drove the excited chatter to silence and then let it sound up twice as loud.

Lynette stiffened beside Tywin, so much so that he could see every muscle stand out. Her nostrils flared, the chest heaved in a single breath before settling again. She wasn't nervous, he righted himself, she was terrified.

"I'll have no bedding."

Lynette would have turned sideways, _sideface_ , to look at him if she wasn't so stiff. Why would he shirk tradition? Was he ashamed of her? In that moment, she didn't care what he thought. She just prayed that the king would adhere to his grandfather's wishes and spare her from the embarrassment that came with the bedding ceremony.

His voice was sharp, clear and to the point – ever the calculative man of power. The king eyed his grandfather with an incredulous smile and laughed cynically, making the hope that rose in Lynette's chest flatten and deflate.

"Come now, Grandfather. Let them at her!"

Joffrey's tone was malicious and cut through Lynette sharper than any knife ever could. The king was eyeing her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. He looked far too eager for her liking. It made her subconsciously shift closer to Tywin and his calming warmth, a move that didn't go unnoticed by the Lannister.

"I'll have no bedding, your Grace," he said firmly, before adding, to appease the king, "She is for my eyes only."

That satisfied Joffrey and he sat back down on his richly carved chair beside his soon to be wife. He gulped down a cup of wine and yelled obscenely, "Music!"

Lynette looked at her husband where he sat, unfazed and stoic with a straight back and his mouth in a hard line. His green-gold eyes met hers and he held his hand out to her again. Lynette forced her limbs to work, forced herself to stand up beside him and forced herself to smile at her sister when she passed her table. His grip on her slender fingers was firm, not tight – just firmly reminding her that she had a duty to perform, just as he did.

They walked to his chambers in silence.

Tywin opened the door of his personal apartments and let her in first. He shut the door behind him and slid the bolt home.

Lynette felt her slippers meet the rich carpets on the floors and allowed herself to look at the room in all its grandeur. She tried desperately to keep her eyes away from the bed that stood in front of her like an army in front of a single foot soldier. She averted her eyes and instead stared at the fine dark wood of his desk beside it.

"You know what is expected of you, Lady Stark?" he asked smoothly behind her.

Lynette turned around, looking at his neck and not his eyes. Her voice was shaking when she answered him and she cursed it, "I do, my lord." She raised a hand to the clasp of his cloak on her neck, opened it and hung the piece of fabric over a leather chair.

Her hair fell out of its style quite easily and hung around her shoulders and back like a dark curtain.

Lynette started unlacing the back of her dress, her fingers clumsy and slow. He watched her like a hawk, taking in every movement and growing more and more irritated by her slow progress. Suddenly, the Old Lion rose and spun her around. His hands broke the fine strings of the dress and her breath stuttered when the dress fell to the floor with a _shloop._

He didn't say anything. His hands were rough and hard, the callouses burning her skin. Her silk smallclothes, a gift from Cersei, caught his attentions and with a distinct sound of ripping material, they tore under his strength.

She was naked.

Naked and trembling in front of an angry man she didn't know.

The eldest Stark heard fabric rustle behind her. Tywin was undoing the laces of his doublet and was flinging his cloak out of the way. He didn't want to pity her. But he did. He remembered Joanna, his darling Joanna on their wedding night, shaking and crying and blushing. Seeing this girl, this new wife of his in front of him, made him feel like a traitor even though Joanna was long dead and buried. He grew angry then, hard-eyed and distant.

With a sharp rip, the laces of his doublet broke. He was about to shrug it off, when he saw her – after her hair had moved and lay in front of her, no doubt to cover her breasts.

Tywin didn't focus on the soft curve of her waist and the feminine bell of her hips. Her hair was up, her back and sides exposed to his eyes. A patchwork of scars marred her pale skin, from her shoulders down her back and on her sides. Bruises, red welts and jagged blemishes dotted her flesh, a stark contrast with the otherwise flawless skin of her face, arms and hands. The angry redness on her side where his hand had been while they danced caught his attention and spiked his fury.

She shook when the air around them clashed with her pale skin and she immediately recoiled away from him. She wasn't scared of her duty. She was terrified of Tywin Lannister seeing her like this, exposed and vulnerable, with the evidence of her pain on show. She raised her hands to cover herself, hiding from the light of the fire. Lynette was fooling herself when she thought he didn't see…

She knew he had.

The wolf spoke first, a tremble of fear in her voice, terror and rejection dancing in her eyes, "I am sorry I am so … _ugly_."

Tywin Lannister threw his doublet to the floor in blind fury and stalked up to her, making her back away from him until she fell in an ungracious heap on his bed. He stood above her, a commanding calm descending over him that scared her even more.

Ice would have melted at his tone when he finally spoke, "Who did this?"

Lynette stared up at him, wide eyed and shaking. All her wolf-like fire was put out as she lay there, wondering what she should say. Her silence obviously angered him further, because he pinned her to place with a hard look in his green eyes that made the gold in them look molten and black.

" _Names_ , girl."

Lynette swallowed thickly, knowing better than to disobey a direct order and whispered, "The Kingsguard, my – my lord. Trant. And Blount some- sometimes."

He turned away from her much to her relief. His steps were sure and calculated as he picked up his sword and let the door of his apartments slam behind him. Lynette lay there, motionless and panicking. Her heart was beating so fast she feared it would cease all together. She took a deep breath, picked up the beautiful gown and lay it over the chair with the cloak. She did the same to his doublet and cloak and wrapped herself in the blanket on his bed.

She looked about the room for a washbasin. The trembling girl found it in a remote corner of the bathroom and washed her cheeks. Vanity got the better of her and she quickly righted her appearance as much as she could with the timeframe provided.

He just _left_.

He left her on their _wedding_ _night_ , seething with rage.

Lynette let the blanket fall and stared at herself in the mirror. She hated the marks the brutish King left on her body, a permanent reminder of what he did to her and what he made her do to protect her sister.

Silently building walls around herself again, she counted to a hundred and back in her head. Slowly, she walked back into his room, and covered herself as best she could with her discarded slip. If he was going to leave her like that, naked and trembling on his bed, she would meet him like a lady, with her strength and will restored. He would not break her spirit so easily and she would prove it to him.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

if you are here for the lemons, well... Be patient. Good things come to those who (read the story by chapters and don't just skip to the raunchy bits) wait.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 9: Bloody vengeance

Sansa was stiff in her chair beside Olenna. The Queen of Thornes was munching on a piece of strawberry tart and looked as if she was going to drown an entire legion of soldiers just for some entertainment.

The hall of Lynette's wedding feast hadn't dwindled in her absence. Her sister had married Tywin Lannister to save her from marrying an imp. The tears that Sansa had shed as her beautiful, strong-willed sister was cloaked and named a Lannister threatened to return to her. If only Lynette had told her that the cost of Sansa's freedom was a marriage to _that_ man, she would have told her sister to save herself and forget her.

If only Sansa had _thought_!

Lynette made a promise to their father to protect her and Arya, and with their littlest sister gone, Sansa knew that the only way for her sister to honor the promise she had made, was to pull out all the stops when it came to Sansa's safety.

Her sister was married to Tywin, the Lion of Lannister. An old, cruel man who would hurt her every night as Rheagar hurt her aunt Lyanna. Sansa felt as if she failed her name. She trusted a Lannister and had to watch her father die because of it. She feared a Lannister and now had to see her sister degraded and broken by a beast of a man.

A soft hand touched her shoulder. She flinched and jerked her head up to meet Olenna's gaze. The old woman smiled sincerely, a rare feat in itself, and whispered, "Do not fear for your sister. Tywin may be a cold man, but he isn't a brute. He won't hurt her."

Then, a lewd grin crept its way onto the old woman's mouth, and she said, "Your sister will murder him if he tries to, anyway, so eat your cakes and drink your wine, girl. We'll be here some time."

As soon as she spoke, the doors burst open to reveal the lord they had been talking about. He looked positively murderous, eyes dark and filled with a terrible rage that only added fuel to the fire of her fears. Sansa heard the tell-tale footsteps of a marching regiment and stood to join Margery by the doors.

Lord Tywin was improperly dressed, and Sansa would have looked away for the sake of lady-like manners but she was intrigued. He wore the same pair of breaches as he did at the wedding, barefoot with a thin tunic on that did little to hide the fine sculpted muscle of his chest. His sword was out and the way he approached the king, Sansa was sure he was going to kill him then and there.

He passed the king in his furious march of one-man vengeance, much to Sansa's disappointment and bodily dragged the majority of the Kingsguard right past her and into the other room.

Trant and Blount, her and Lynette's torturers were forced to their knees in front of the Old Lion. He had a calm fury about him and Sansa started when Lady Olenna appeared beside her.

"Look, little loves," the old lady snipped, "he is protecting her honor already."

Tywin, _Lord Lannister,_ Sansa reminded herself, stood in front of both men. He took a rattling breath and started speaking, ignoring Joffrey's hysterical cries.

"By the justice of the gods, old and new, for crimes committed against Lady Lannister, I, Tywin, of the House Lannister, sentence you to die."

His deep baritone was laced with hate and Sansa watched with twisted wonderment as he swung his sword, once and then again, blood spilling across the fine floors with deadly efficiency. His crazed eyes met hers, a contrast to the calm in his body and nodded once.

Sansa found herself nodding in return, before Lady Olenna pulled her back to her seat.

The King was madly raging now, but the Hand dragged him and his daughter out of the door, walked straight passed the corpses of the Whitecloaks and pushed both bodily into a room. Sansa could hear the sound of angry screeching from the King if she strained her ears.

Sansa took one last look at Trant and Blount before their bodies were dragged away and servants appeared to scrub the floor clean.

She smiled.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Next up: Sin

I'm filthy... Please don't read the next chapter if semi-vivid descriptions of intimacy triggers you.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

Chapter 10: A collared wolf

Lynette didn't know how long she waited, but she must have fallen asleep, because she was woken by the door opening and sliding shut, much softer than before. She sat up quickly, rubbed her eyes and jumped to her feet.

There was blood on his tunic.

A flicker of panic rose in her heart again, but she snuffed it out and assessed his movements. No sign of pain. He wasn't injured. It wasn't his blood.

"Whose blood is it, my lord?"

Tywin took in her wayward hair and unbuckled his sword belt with a sigh. He set the weapon down before taking a moment to force himself back into the mask of a calm and calculative man.

"They won't hurt you or your sister again."

Shocked, Lynette stood thinking. Did he exact justice because he was trying to be gallant, or did he simply want to stress a point that even the king couldn't touch what belonged to him? To calm herself, she decided on the former and willed herself to walk to him. She remained there in his presence, basking in his warmth without touching him, stilling her aching heart. The wolf reared its head inside her, and courage returned to her. Finally.

"Thank you, Lord Lannister."

When she looked up at him again, it was the most human she had ever seen him. His eyes were tired and he looked torn for some reason. She didn't know what he wanted her to do, so she simply turned around, pulled her shift over her head and glided to the bed, where she lay down with her hands at her sides.

She waited like that, until the bed dipped underneath his weight and she felt the warmth he radiated lick at her skin. Lynette ignored her troublesome nerves and held herself still when a rough hand found purchase on her own. It would only be respectful to acknowledge him – Lynette turned and met his eyes, completely devoid of emotion.

Tywin was warring with himself. It was his duty! He never shirked it, no matter how terrible. Yet here he was, wondering if he should give the girl reprieve. 'No!' he growled at himself, 'Just get on with it!'

Her frightened eyes stopped him from turning her around and fucking her face down so that he wouldn't have to look at her. Tywin made a choice then, lying naked on his bed with his wife inches away from him. He would make her enjoy him. He would make her forget the pains his blasted grandson forced her through. If it meant he had to suffer a little in the process, then so be it. He was on the home stretch of his run anyway, the last thing he could enjoy was the willing touch of his lady wife, not her pained cries.

"Tell me of Winterfell…"

The question shocked her so that Lynette complied without a second thought. She told him of the snowflakes, the Godswood and the Weirwood Tree. She told him of the rides she and Jon used to take through the woods and the smell of breakfast in the morning. Her heart ached for home, but by the time she was done, she was smiling softly with a nostalgic look in her eyes.

Tywin held her hand the entire time, thumbing her skin gently. She was relaxing, had completely forgotten her lack of clothes and let him near her. It was a drastic improvement from her trembling the first time he came into the room with her.

Lynette moved onto her knees beside him, her hair covering her chest like a shirt. She didn't let go of his hand and she seemed to be holding onto it like a lifeline. She appreciated his efforts to make her relax, but she would much rather he just get on with their consummation, because the wait was making her want to cry even though she cursed the raw feeling of terror that danced in her body.

Tywin spoke, somberly, seeing the struggle in her eyes, "Come here, Lady Stark."

She knew he meant for her to straddle him, so she arranged herself and swung her leg over his waist to accommodate herself. She was still holding onto his hand. Her nails were biting into the flesh but she didn't care. He was going to hurt her. She would hurt him back.

Lynette forced her body to remain still and not to cover herself. She was his now and he could enjoy her in whatever way he deemed fit. Cersei told her as much. She said that men such as her father claimed his rights often, viciously and without quarter.

It was time for her to become a woman. Lynette knew as much.

His other hand found purchase on her hip. It remained still, unmoving. She looked at him, properly.

The Lion of Lannister was a lion indeed.

He was strong, corded muscle in his arms and chest, his shoulders broad and his waist narrow. His legs were long, strong and hard beneath her bottom and his hands were large. He was dusted in a fine layer of hair, his _mane_ , she thought quietly and smiled despite herself. His … it was large, too. She had nothing to compare it to, of course, but the maids and Shae had been very descriptive. How that was going to fit inside her, she had no idea.

With an impossibly small voice, and a shy look, she mumbled, "May I touch you?"

When he didn't answer, she felt panic begin to take hold. He saw it and pulled the hand that still clasped his to rest on his chest. Lynette didn't know what she was allowed and what not, because they didn't talk about this and he didn't say anything.

His skin was hot under her touch. His hands remained impassive on her hips and let her explore his body. A brief flicker of doubt crossed his mind when she just stared at him. He _was_ older than her…

As quickly as his insecurities rose, he trampled them.

He didn't have the time to worry if she found his body desirable or not.

Hers was glorious.

She had broader shoulders than he first saw, but it suited her and the way she seemed to order everyone around. Her collar begged him to kiss it. Her breasts were small, but impossible firm and pert. Her waist was slender, her belly tight. Her thighs were smooth and what lay between them was hot and tight and unexplored and his.

 _His_.

The thought made his grip on her tighten and he sat up suddenly. He kissed her hard on the mouth, giving her some time to follow her instincts and move her lips in sync with his own. Her kiss was angry and it made him awaken. Blood flowed through the Old Lion, headed down to his groin. He pulled away and looked at her.

She was beautiful dressed up and proper. But like this, austere, bare and breathless, she was mesmerizing.

Tywin lowered his mouth to her neck. He suckled gently until he felt her hands on his shoulders. His tongue trailed slowly to her collar and he dusted kisses all over the exposed skin. Lynette knew she shouldn't be enjoying his attentions. She knew she shouldn't get used to tenderness. But beneath every scar and every welt, there was a woman with a body and feelings and dreams.

She couldn't ignore the fact that he was _trying_. Trying to make it less painful. Trying to make her feel better even if it went against their duty.

In turn, she tried too.

Tried to swallow her fears, tried to convey her trust by letting her neck drop back and offering herself to him, tried to please him as well.

They would try together then, she thought.

Warmth she hadn't felt in a long time slipped over her and blanketed her against his chest. The Lion cupped a breast and trailed his fingers over her tight nipple to gauge her reaction. Her back tensed but she made no sound. Her lip was caught between her teeth. Her hands were gripping him now, not holding as they were before.

He ignored his own arousal and focused on her. When it came to the lioness, a lion would never betray, push too hard or demand too much. Lynette was struggling to come to terms with her body's reaction to his touch. It was all strange for her. It was strange for him, too. He lowered his lips to one breast, kissed it slowly and felt her thighs tighten around his waist when he sucked for the first time. The hand on her hip moved to her back to hold her in such a way that he had better access and she all but melted into him. Her breathing was deepening, and she was beginning to let go of her sense of decorum.

It felt _good_.

It was the first time a touch to her hips wasn't malicious.

It was the first time a touch to her breasts brought pleasure instead of shame and humiliation.

To thank him, she slipped one of her hands to the back of his neck and massaged him there. She didn't know if she was allowed to touch his … his cock, so she let her hands flutter over his back and sides to distract herself from the heat she felt spreading from her core.

Tywin noticed, he noticed everything, and slowly dropped his hand down her stomach, back to her hipbone. The skin spasmed and he smirked into her neck when she went rigid as his fingers lazily found a spot of her body she didn't know she had. His fingers on the most private part of her body shocked her. The pleasure that slipped over her and made her mind cloud was maddening. She knew to keep quiet, per Cersei's wisdom and dug her teeth into her lips.

Her lip was bleeding when he looked up at her face again, to search for fear or discomfort. To free it, he kissed her again and let his tongue trace the seam of her lips. She made a sound of shock in the back of her throat, clearly confused and he pulled away, to growl, "Open your mouth."

The Lannister kissed her again before she could complain and open her mouth she did, to find his tongue trailing slowly and with practiced ease over her bottom lip. When their tongues touched, she ripped her mouth from him again, staring at him stupidly, "My lord, I don-"

Her pulse was thundering against her neck. His rough fingers smoothed over her little button again and her eyes rolled back in her head, "Oh…"

The first time he heard her moan, it was like someone flogged him. Tywin Lannister was overcome by lust and he could barely control his own breathing. She was truly an exquisite creature and some primal male part of him that had long lay dormant reared its head and made a selfish pride spread all over him when he realized that _he_ had elicited that sound.

This time when his lips met hers, Lynette granted him entrance.

And kissed him wantonly.

Her mouth was wet and hot, tasted like berries and applewine – with a clouded gleam in her eyes that made her look like a siren – something he couldn't deny, for despite all his achievements, the Lion of Lannister was still a _man_. He was hard and aroused and he wanted to fuck her - and never stop. He slipped a finger closer to her entrance and pushed inside with the aid of her slick.

She didn't make a sound of discomfort and didn't stop him, but her hand gripped his bicep.

A warning.

A wordless plea for gentleness as well as a wanton encouragement.

He knew she was scrambling about, trying to find what was left of her sanity. He didn't move his finger but kept his hand circling and rubbing. She was as tight as a vice. Her hips were shaking in time with his movements and her lips were pliant against his.

Lynette Stark was losing herself.

His tongue matched the sinful strokes of his finger. She was _clawing_ at him now, dragging hands and nails alike across the wide expanse of his back. Leaving marks that almost matched the ones on her own skin.

Her body was betraying her and her nerves were overwhelmed with pleasure, want and need. Need for what, she didn't know, but she needed something and it seemed only he could give it to her, so she kept kissing him and touching him, _hoping_ he would give it to her.

Her breathing stuttered against his mouth when he pulled back to watch her before diving back to her chest and feasting on her breasts as if he couldn't get enough of her. Tywin was truly relieved when he felt it, the first little tremor of her walls around his finger, his _one_ finger, and doubled his efforts. Lynette was making him feel things he had last enjoyed in the arms of his late wife, and it scared him.

She was almost crying above him now, wordlessly pleading with him to end her torment. Her eyes were wide, frightened and excited at the same time, and her soft whimpers were so sincere it drove a shock through his soul.

When she succumbed and finally let her first ever orgasm crash into her like a tidal wave of fury, she clung to him like a lifeline. She wanted to feel ashamed of herself but couldn't. The realization that he cared enough, even if he only cared about what she could give him, to make her feel so wonderful was enough to make a calm acceptance settle over her.

Tywin just looked at her until she raised her head from his shoulder, blushing blood red. She let her eyes smile in thanks before allowing him to roll her over and onto the covers behind her.

His warmth encased her and his eyes burned their way into her head. Lynette wasn't shaking any more, merely waiting. She looked between them before she reached down and took him in her hand. The Lord of the Rock stiffened but didn't stop her in her curious exploration. Her hands were soft and welcome and his eyes never once faltered from hers.

He would look her in the eye as he took her.

Tywin respected her enough to murmur grimly, "It will hurt."

He was proud of her solemn nod and he moved his hands down to lift her knees to either side of him. Being so intimately close to him made her heart start pounding again, but Lynette didn't notice, because his … his cock was there, against her, and it felt bigger than before. How he was going to fit, she didn't know, but looked him in the eye and bared her neck to him again, relinquishing control.

Her body started to tense, but the lion kissed the soft skin of her neck slowly and once again pinned her to her place with his unforgiving green-gold stare.

She relaxed.

Tywin gathered his wits about him and entered her just as her chest lowered in exhale. Any pain she felt, she couldn't hide from him, because he was right there above her, with his hands bracing his weight above her body.

Lynette gasped when she felt him inside her, tearing through her. He wasn't lying when he said that it would hurt. She was underwhelmed, however and had expected something much worse by the way her Septa and Cersei went on about it.

She felt so … _full_.

It felt strange to be so close to someone, to be one with someone. Her heart shook in her chest and she dug her nails into his back. Lynette dug her knees into his sides so tightly she was sure Tywin had trouble breathing. She wanted to hurt him for hurting her. Physically and mentally.

" _Fuck_ ," he cursed through clenched teeth and growled deep in his throat. She was bloody _tight_ and fighting him with _everything_ in her. He was stronger than her and kept her still. He knew it would cause her more pain the more she struggled.

Joanna struggled against him those many years ago and the pain that tore through her made him stop what they were doing and call the maester while he held her body against his.

The memory made his heart clench, but Tywin forced it out of his mind and looked at Lynette's valiant attempt to calm herself and accept the sudden intrusion. Her breath came in short little pants against the inside of his arm and her one hand was tight around his bicep.

"We can stop," he ground out, his voice deeper and akin to rumbling thunder, "if you wish to."

By gods, he hoped she didn't, because every nerve in his body was raging at him for even suggesting it. Thankfully, his little wife shook her head and shivered when he pulled her flush against him.

Her voice was rough with want when she spoke, her eloquent words a polar opposite to their situation and what they were doing, "No, my lord, I … it is f- fi-fine."

Tywin waited until she relaxed around him, limbs and walls alike, before he started moving. The feel of her, wet and tight, was making it increasingly difficult for him to focus. He didn't like losing control of himself, but it seemed that his little wife, was making him lose all sense and abandon every bit of iron-willed resolve he had built about himself, without even knowing it.

Her hands were tight around his back and Tywin forced himself to keep looking at her face. He wouldn't hurt her more than he had to. He swore it to himself. He never lied.

Her breathy little moans of pleasure were ringing in his ears and the Lannister lost himself in the warm comfort of her touch and the feelings of her hips fluttering against his, forgot about war and money and politics and let himself feel freely.

Lynette was too overwhelmed by emotion and pleasure to accuse him of being weak because of it and even if she did see the vulnerable side of the man that was _inside_ her, she would keep it to herself. He had seen parts of her she wanted to hide forever. She would keep his secrets, too.

With a deep moan that made her toes curl in satisfaction, the Lion finished and spilled himself inside her. His eyes were closed and his jaw slack, a beautiful sheen of sweat on his chest.

They stayed like that, until he stood up and left again.

Lynette felt _filthy_ , then. She felt tears burn in her eyes and quickly brushed them away. She tried to roll over to find her slip and cover herself, but she couldn't move. Her body wasn't listening. Her legs were numb and her hands were blindly gripping the bedsheets, trying to find something to hold on to.

'I want my mother!', her plaintive inner self screamed.

Her hair was tangled and in a tussle on the pillows and she was suddenly cold without him to warm her. Lynette didn't hear the man that was now her husband return. She couldn't focus on anything but the deep sense of emptiness in her. He was carrying a bowl of water and a cloth, unashamed of his nakedness.

Lynette gritted her teeth and with sheer force of will, pulled herself to sit up. Her hair fell forward to cover her and she gripped the sheets even tighter. He didn't say a word when he wiped her clean of blood and –

She looked away.

There was only so much the tattered remains of her sanity could endure. She felt as if she had betrayed her house and her father's memory. Her skin felt clammy and burned where she allowed his hands to touch her. Lynette felt like the traitor Joffrey told her Eddard Stark was. She felt like a traitor because she enjoyed it.

The feeling of his strong body above her, protecting her from the hateful place that was King's Landing was soothing and she had felt at ease for the first time since her father was killed.

The tears were suddenly gone.

Lynette reached for the furs on the foot of the bed to pull over herself. She wanted the material to swallow her. Tywin's rough hand covered her own and she flinched away.

"Are you in pain?"

The Lion was watching his wolf with sharp eyes. Her mind was catching up to what their bodies had done. Tywin wanted to comfort her, but found, sitting there beside her on his soiled bed, he didn't know how.

Comforting maidens wasn't one of his strong suits.

She didn't answer him but shook her head. Sighing, Tywin searched for her slip on the floor somewhere and found it in front of the fireplace, beside his sword. When the Old Lion approached her, her eyes were distant and pained, but he did his best to ignore it and put the slip over her head. Relief sagged over her when her body was covered.

"May I retire to my chambers, Lord Lannister, or do you have need of me again?"

Her voice was so small and scared. He realized what she was doing. She was becoming the hollow shell Joffrey made her into, right there, before his eyes. Lynette was retreating into herself, hiding the wolf to save and preserve it, and she was building her walls up again.

"Do you wish to sleep alone?" her husband asked her. He was exasperated, and angry. He wanted to bury his sword into something to vent his frustrations. If only he could kill Trant and Blount again.

Lynette exhaled unsteadily, raised her chin and looked at him, "I don't know."

She was brutally honest and it did little to keep his fury in check. He wanted her to be deceptive and scheming so that he could label her and forget about everything she made him feel. She was honest. A man like him wasn't good at managing honesty. Lies were punishable. Truth… it was a foreign concept to be on the receiving side of.

He grimly stared ahead, looking into the fire and seeking answers to questions he didn't know.

The Lannister carried her to her bed in the chamber next to his, tended the fire and left her alone on the bed, her body swallowed by the mountain of blankets.

He washed, dressed himself, sat down at his desk and worked until he couldn't see in a straight line any more.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Please review this chapter. I have never written something like this before. I am afraid it has too many metaphors, but I don't want to seem vulgar.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 11: APPLES AND APATHY

Sunlight trickled through the room in which she lay.

The rays bathed her in a radiant light and made her glow like gold. The girl was gone. She was a woman now.

Lynette yawned and sat up. She winced when she shifted her hips but forced herself to move. She walked to the wash room, opened the door and couldn't help but stare in wonderment at the interior. It was beautiful. The tub was large and could easily fit three people, made of white marble and inlaid with gold. There were scented oils and soaps, soft towels on intricate racks and sunlight lighting up the room like fire.

Lynette quickly got to work and drew herself a bath. She striped off her slip and got into the water. Her muscles relaxed and she hummed in content. Sitting there in the water, her mind wandered to the previous night.

A blush stained her cheeks. Oh, heavens, she didn't know it felt that good. And Tywin… he was so gentle. Her heart clenched painfully when she thought about how he left her there on the spare bed. She knew she had better get used to it. She was his broodmare, after all. She desperately needed to be held then- and wished with everything in her that she had had the strength to ask him to stay.

Her mind darkened. Was it proper, to enjoy his touch if they didn't love one another? Lynette was confused and she didn't know how to proceed. It had been relatively certain that they would have to consummate their marriage on their wedding night, but she had no idea when to expect the next … well, the next time that he would need her.

She couldn't just ask him _when_ he wanted her. It wasn't as if he was going to give her a schedule! When was she supposed to go to him again?

Lynette growled in frustration and settled for washing her hair. She heard a scurry of footsteps in the adjoining room and immediately reached for the razor on the side of the white tub.

The door of the washroom opened a tiny crack and a dark head popped into the room.

"Shae!"

The short, voluptuous handmaiden shot her a smile/smirk and quietly crossed the room on bare feet. Her exotic features looked positively glorious in the sunlight. She knelt beside the tub and helped Lynette with her hair. The Stark let her rub jasmine and sandalwood scent into her dark hair. She let Shae wrap a towel around her hair and stood up in the tub.

"Lynette! What happened to you? I'll kill him!"

The handmaiden's soft hands were on the bruise on her side that Joffrey had made. Shaking her head, Lynette answered, "The king, Shae. Not the lion."

They shared a look and then, Lynette burst into a fit of giggles. Shae stood there, shocked beyond words. She couldn't make out what Lynette was trying to say, nor why she was laughing, but wrapped a towel around the girl and helped her into her room.

The Stark girl was still smiling when she entered her room and slipped on her smallclothes, then a slip and her corset over all of it. She was about to ask for something to wear when there was a knock on the door.

Sharp, clear and to the point.

Lynette felt panic rise in her chest and all but pushed Shae out of the room, with a hushed, "It's him. Tell Sansa I love her and I am not hurt."

Lynette scampered over to the door, her legs still a bit wobbly but better than what they were when she woke. There was a strange excitement in her stomach. Thinking of her stomach, she realized exactly how hungry she was. She hadn't eaten properly for weeks. The past weeks had been better but she still had trouble keeping food down.

Lynette took a deep breath and eased the door open, half hiding behind it in her state of undress. Not that it mattered, he had seen her naked, so there wasn't really much point in feeling ashamed. She must have looked comical, big eyes staring curiously at him, with her wild wet hair laying in disarray around her head. The sunlight danced into the adjoining room as well.

Tywin was standing in front of her door, dressed and pressed, his beard trimmed and his eyes bright. There wasn't a smile on his lips but the lines on his face were less severe and he looked at ease. He held out a hand, beckoning for her. Lynette blushed demurely and took it, letting him lead her out into the small lounge that separated his room from hers. She looked at him squarely, refusing to cover herself even if she was battling against the instinctive action.

"Should I send for a maester?"

Straight to the point. No nonsense or dilly-dallying. Lynette let her fingers tighten on his own, slowly let her lips curl into a genuine smile. She shook her head, before she managed to say, "No, my lord. I am not badly hurt."

He hummed and lead her to the table. It was laden with food and Lynette's stomach chose that moment to make a nasty growling sound.

She pulled her hand from his, took a step back and covered her stomach to stop it from making such noises. Tywin looked bemused but pulled her chair out for her in silence. They sat down and Lynette ate eagerly. It must have been late morning, because the sun was high already. Lynette knew she should have apologized for sleeping so late, but he didn't express disapproval, so she didn't say sorry and kept her gaze focused on her breakfast.

His voice cut through the silence smoothly, "You may call me Tywin." He reached forward for a date and a small spoonful of nuts, "in private and when propriety allows it."

Lynette smirked, "And if propriety doesn't allow it? Shall I call you Lord Lannister? Or, Lord Hand?"

His look was hard and she swore she saw his eyes roll. He wasn't annoyed, just surprised that her tongue loosened so quickly. He couldn't help but shake his head good-naturedly but he raised a quizzical eyebrow when she _bit_ into an apple.

Her delicious lips wrapped over the side of the fruit, her teeth cut into the flesh of it and a soft sound of ephemeral approval slipped from her throat. He felt a sharp shot of arousal punch through him when he watched a small drop of the juice drip down the side of her mouth and onto her neck. He had the uncanny urge to lick it away.

'Stop this at once!', he scowled at himself and tightened his grip on his cup.

His body obeyed but he couldn't get his mind under control and the dark thoughts kept raging in his head.

When Lynette looked up and saw the way he was looking at her, she looked frantically at her apple and then at him again, "I… apologize. I have wanted to eat an apple like this from the moment I left home. I should have done it in private. I won't do it in public, I swear."

Tywin leaned forward, as if he was sharing the most precious secret with her and gently wiped the juice from the side of her mouth. He had not failed to notice her dress, or rather, lack thereof. He was just a man, after all. Even though he was old, he wasn't unable to appreciate female beauty. His warmth wrapped around her teasingly for a moment before it pulled away again.

Lynette found that her heart was racing. His eyes, dear gods, his eyes were blackened with anger – or was it lust? The two were so close with him, she wasn't sure. The Stark wanted to look away, wanted her body to stop its reaction to his nearness, his warmth and the blatant want in his eyes. Her apple was still in her hand and Lynette dared, then. She kept her eyes on his, staring straight into whatever was left of his soul and took another bite.

The distinct _crunch_ echoed through the room. Tywin was watching her with burning intensity, too enthralled to look away. Gods, if she knew how beautiful she really was…

"What are you doing?"

A shy smile appeared on her lips and she blushed, suddenly overcome by nervousness. Lynette bit her lip, about to apologize for her lewdness, but felt warmth lick at her. He was closer to her, leaning forward. Tywin reached a rough hand forward, gripped the leg of her chair firmly and pulled her to face him. The scrape of the chair against the floor was the only sound in the room.

He was in front of her, his eyes unyielding and dark and he looked ready to storm a castle. She could see that every muscle on his arms, chest and thighs were pulled taut and stiff and that his hands were shaking slightly. She wanted to be afraid, she really did. But a sinfully delicious heat spread over her body when the Lion leaned down to her neck and kissed the skin where the juice of the apple had dripped, his tongue teasing the smooth column of her neck.

Her dark head fell back to grant him better access. A sigh escaped her, rattling her senses and shaking her very core. She felt swallowed by the warmth he radiated and was more than willing to let it consume her.

Lynette reached for him, her fingers tightening around the material of his doublet – whether it was to push him away or pull him closer, she didn't know. Her heart was racing and Tywin could feel her pulse thundering underneath his lips.

The air around them was burning. Lynette was consumed his cinnamon-ny, metallic smell and the coarse feel of his hand on her shoulder. His beard tickled her collarbone and she felt a hand on her knee, inching up, up, up.

"Hmm," she shuddered out, lost in his touch and the security it gave her. Lynette was holding onto him like he was her only foundation in a world of quicksand. She pulled his head up to her own and kissed him slowly. Their lips melded together in a breathless harmony of need. Every touch was ten times as potent than the previous night. Lynette's hands struggled with the laces on the front of his shirt and all but ripped them open.

Tywin pulled away to look at her. Her lips were swollen, her hair was wild about her head and her pale flesh was stained red. Exquisite. His lips were back on hers before she could blink, bruising her and burning her. His hand on her leg pressed her knees apart and Lynette felt her heartrate triple when his rough fingers crept up her leg again, stroking the soft flesh of her thighs and pulling her hips to the edge of her seat.

Her hands finally reached his skin and she relished in the way his breath caught in his throat. She slid her hands over the wide expanse of his shoulders, down over his pectorals and over his taut stomach. He responded in turn, by slowly trailing his fingers over her hipbone and almost touching her where she needed him the most.

Her body was on fire and there was a want in her that needed to be sated. She wondered if it would always feel this hot, this forbidden. Her heart was pounding, her blood was rushing and Lynette was sure she had never felt more alive. She keened in protest when his hands left her thighs. She dug her nails into his sides and bit his lower lip.

When she pulled away from his mouth, his eyes were so dark she could see her reflection gazing back at her, shining in the ebony depths.

"Is this wrong?" she asked softly, her lips still brushing his and their breaths mingling.

Tywin answered in his own wordless way by kissing her chin, then the hollow of her throat and then her breast through the hard material of her corset. He picked up his head then and asked, "Does it feel wrong, Lynette?"

Her breath hitched at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue, and she could only shake her head 'no' because her mind was too muddled to speak. The corners of his mouth jerked up and Lynette took it for a smile, because his eyes warmed. He jerked her up to her feet, his strong fingers on her hips. Tywin smiled seductively and with a casual slowness that made her blood boil even hotter, started inching her slip up.

The feeling of his calloused fingers on her thighs made her bite her lip again, but she knew better than to break their gaze. The Great Lion slowly pulled her smallclothes down and Lynette gasped when his thumb pressed into the little bundle of nerves above her entrance. She shuddered so violently by the intimacy of his touch and her legs would have gave out underneath her if Tywin hadn't caught her legs and hoisted them up to wrap around his waist.

She had never been gladder for his long, precise strides. He slammed the door of his bedchamber open, turned and pinned her to the unforgiving wood. She moaned shyly when he resumed his attentions to her neck and pushed his hips into hers.

The Stark heard the lock slip into place and threw everything she felt bubbling through her, the lust and the need and the safety that she found in his arms into her kiss. His lips were soft and gentle as he walked her over to his bed, giving her an opportunity to pull away from him. Her hold tightened around his neck and the emptiness in her amplified tenfold.

Her back hit the bed and she heard his doublet clatter to the floor. He took hold of her corset with two large, strong hands and pulled, ripping it clean down the middle. Lynette felt insecurity rise in her again when he tried to pull her slip over her head- and stopped his hands. She didn't want him to see her scars. Tywin kissed her forehead, her cheeks and her hands before he gently tugged her over his chest.

The feeling of his hands tracing every dip and contour of her skin made Lynette shake, burning through the thin material that covered her. She was kissing every inch of his exposed skin that she could reach. His hands were magic against her skin, lulling her into a stupor with every brush of his rough hands against her. Her mouth was warm against his, and Tywin was losing himself, as she had lost herself the previous night.

Lynette felt her doubts begin to rise again. He had turned them around the previous night and took control. She didn't know how to continue. Her knowledge about what happened in the marriage bed stopped at the general mechanics of it. Other than what went where, she didn't know anything else.

Lifting her head, Lynette looked at him. His eyes weren't closed, but he looked so calm. Tywin would never close his eyes around someone. Trust was commodity in King's Landing. Her cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment this time, "I don't know what you want me to do."

A deep rumbling chuckled sounded through the room. It was a warm sound that made her smile in return. There was a sly smile on his face, one that made him look younger and somehow, more predatory. Everything outside the room she was in, was forgotten. For once, all the scheming and the lies, everything that made her angry and hate the king, it was all a faded memory that hid in the darkest corners of her mind.

The thing that scared her the most about the previous night, was that in the warm shelter that his arms provided her with, she forgot about everything that hurt her. She forgot about her father's murder, Arya's disappearance, Joffrey's beatings and Sansa's tears. All she could focus on was the feelings that he introduced her to and what he made her feel. Her mind was closed to anything else.

Lynette was tired. And broken. If she could escape for a few moments, she would do so. Call it weakness, but she didn't care. She had been strong for so long, it became second nature to her.

With a determined set of her jaw, Lynette threw one leg over her husband's waist. She shook when she felt him against her, hard and hot. Her lips slammed down on his and Tywin wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she had trouble breathing. The tables had turned, it seemed. His hands were running down the length of her back and she could not stop the shiver that raced across her skin. Her hair was dryer now, curtaining both of them.

Tywin's hands were slowly trailing over the sides of her breast, teasing the flesh that wasn't covered by her slip. Lynette held herself over him with her hands on his shoulders, knowing that even though she was on top of him, he could overpower her easily. Her hands fumbled with his breeches and brushed against him every so often, making the man beneath her growl with want.

When she managed to get the offending material off of him and threw his boots over her shoulder with a careless shrug, he was _purring_ beneath her. She smiled at him and kissed him gently, giggling against his lips. Tywin cupped her face for a moment, before he lowered one hand between them and slipped a finger over the little nub that made her writhe and whine. Lynette's eyes fell shut and her body jerked when lightening bolts of pleasure swirled their way over her quivering body.

The heat of his body that molded into her was _tantalizing_ and Lynette knew that she was addicted, to the feeling of pleasure surging through her. Tywin was watching her and his eyes were branding her as his, the only man that would ever see her like this, if he could somehow sway the course of time. He would die before her, he was sure. Whatever children they had, she would raise alone.

"Don't take more than you can," he murmured into the skin above the low neckline of her slip. She mumbled something that sounded like acknowledgement to his warning and shifted to feel every sweet, sinful inch press against her. Lynette watched his face and followed the guidance of his hands as she sank down on him.

The emptiness in her, it finally faded and was replaced by the feeling of being full.

This time, there was no pressure or sense of duty between them. Duty was the death of all pleasure, after all.

It would be safe to say that there wasn't a sense of duty between them, because pleasure was all that Lynette felt.

Her nerves were tingling and a churning feeling of being lost, and found all at the same time, had taken root in the pit of her stomach. Tywin's jaw was slack and a deep, rumbling groan sounded from him, a sound that made her smile slyly at him. A fierce sense of _power_ descended on her when she was finally comfortable enough to move.

"Show me," she bit out – eyes fluttering – and searched for purchase with fleeting fingers digging into his chest, "I need you to… hmm, oh, I –"

Her slip was bundled around her waist. His hands scorched her when he dug his fingers into her spellbinding hips, to guide her into a slow and deliberate pattern above him. Lynette could feel her heart pounding against her ribs, so loudly she was scared it would beat straight out of her chest. Her eyes were locked with his, unseeing and glazed with lust. Her nails were leaving marks on his chest, as the shape of his own hands were bruised into her hips.

Lynette found a rhythm after fumbling about for a moment. Her thighs were hurting from the strain to keep herself above him and her fingers were numb from pressing into his chest. Her throat was dry and her mouth open and useless.

She didn't care. It felt magnificent.

Tywin wasn't faring better. She was tight, sweet gods, she was so tight it _hurt_. Her hips were slow and sure as they moved above him, dragging him in and out of her with wanton precision. She was focused and chasing the goal of her release. She looked wonderful, lost in the throes of her passion and it took every ounce of strength that he possessed not to finish by the mere visual of her riding him.

Lynette was shaking, trying to come to terms with the emotions and the new sensations of ecstasy that she was feeling. Her hands were hard on his chest, bruising him and marking him with red scratches. Tywin was purring beneath her, switching between holding her hips and moving her and brushing her wild hair away from her face so that he could see every fleeting flash that passed through her eyes.

"Tywin… I fee-…" her voice didn't want to work, but he understood what she was pleading for. The Lion of Lannister could feel her walls quivering around him. His lips found a spot to suck on just above her right breast. His fingers were relentless on her. Her nails were clawing at him, her fingers shaking with pleasure.

She looked beautiful.

Even more so when her walls clamped down around him so tightly the Great Lion felt his breath leave his chest. She came crashing down from the high she had worked them both up to with a breathless moan. She froze and spasmed above him, scared out of her mind of the sheer magnitude of feelings that she was experiencing.

Lynette had trouble breathing, the air seemed to catch in her chest, but forced herself to look at her husband. Tywin was _purring_ into her neck his brow furrowed with concentration, his shoulders tense. She could feel him moving within her, before every tension in his body relaxed and a deep groan sounded in her ears. She felt a warmth coat her insides and flushed with a strange sense of satisfaction.

His hands were tight around her hips, holding her still in the aftermath of their shared ecstasy. She suddenly felt outlandish, somehow didn't know what to say to him or how to even talk about what they had done. She didn't want to feel shame at her actions, but she felt the gnawing fire of it rising in her gut. Her father hated the man she had just welcomed between her legs.

What type of daughter was she?

Sighing, Lynette rolled away from him and onto her side. The Hand of the King was her husband. Joffrey's grandfather was her husband.

She was wed to Tywin Lannister. She knew that she wouldn't have minded if he was just Tywin. Just Tywin, and she just Lynette.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

I try to keep them both in character, Tywin especially. Please leave a review. More chapters on Friday. Enjoy xx


	12. Chapter 12

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 12: PETALS OF WAR

The Lady rose herself and all but fled to her room. She slammed the door, angrily wiped at her tears and washed herself for the second time that day. Lynette desperately tried to scrub the burning remnants of his touch off of her skin. While in his arms, she could forget.

She could forget that she was Lynette and he Tywin. When they were entwined in lust, they were just two people, seeking a powerful enough aphrodisiac to make them forget, even for a few infinite moments, that they were enemies.

When she finally got out of the tub, she dressed in a pair of breeches and one of Robb's tunics that she had snuck into her trunk when Septa Mordane, gods rest her soul, had turned away from her packing all those months ago in Winterfell. She took a few coins and put them into the pocket of her trousers. Sniffing away her tears, she strapped her dagger to her waist. Lynette knew he would be angry by her departure.

She didn't care.

She wanted to be alone.

The warm familiarity of the clothing made her heart ache. Her father was alive the last time she had worn it. The sadness had settled on her chest again. Her mind was perplexed. She was just a bargaining chip to the Lannister House, now. She used to be the daughter of a traitor in the South, the daughter of a martyr in the North. Now she was no more than a broodmare.

She slipped out of the Tower, narrowly evaded her guards, even Rogoff and walked to the Imp's chambers. Lynette was looking for his sellsword. Her hair was dry and left wild around her neck. She was relieved it covered the marks that _he_ had made. Lynette knocked on the door but found it empty.

Lynette growled in annoyance. She needed Bronn's black humor to scare her mind into emptiness. She wasn't about to wait for him. She wasn't about to go to her sister and have to regale her with tales of 'how it was', and endure Lady Olenna's inquiries about how _good_ the Great Lion's tongue was. Her legs were burning in protest when she finally reached the stables. Her disguise must have worked, because she had yet to see Lannister guards at her back.

The bloody fools needed to learn the art of paying attention if they were going to protect her against anything that remotely resembled danger.

Rheagar stood waiting for her at the end of the aisle and she felt relief wash over her when his warm snout nuzzled her hands. Across from him, however in a stall bigger than she assumed some of the stablehands' homes were, stood the white stallion Tywin had rode down the steps of the Throne Room. He looked at her curiously, with pricked ears and attentive eyes. The golden plate on the wood of his stall door read "Ash".

She searched for a treat in her pockets and fed it to him. 'Ash' greedily munched at it. She wondered if she would be treated like his horse, only ridden in war and forgotten in times of so-called peace. She supposed she would be. Chuckling emotionlessly at how ridiculous it was, she whipped herself around and marched to the Master of Horse's office.

The short man with the one bow-leg – most likely from the kick of a hot-blooded horse – eyed her up and down when she burst into his office. His name, if she recalled correctly from her Septa's extensive lectures, was Hagar. He must have been born in the Capitol, even if he looked like he had Dothraki coloring.

They say that Hagar could ride even the most brutal of horses after he had worked them for a few hours.

They say a lot of things.

Lynette sniffed, before asking the little man, "Master, I want to take Ash out for the day."

He guffawed at that and drawled, "And I want to leave this stinking shit hole, but I guess neither of us are getting what we want, boy."

Lynette bristled slightly and gently set the fallen books on his desk straight. She smiled kindly at him, before correcting him sternly, "I am Lynette Stark. I am sure the Hand would not mind, my good sir."

He looked at her strangely, before throwing his head back and letting a loud guffaw loose. He turned his head back to her, still smiling merrily, "Apologies, madam. I believe that would be Lynette _Lannister._ "

Lynette felt her heart shudder before she nodded grimly at him. They shared a look, before Hagar yelled for a lad to help her with saddles and such things before he retreated back into the cramped little space of his office.

The lad was small, looked incredibly underfed and had large brown eyes. His hair was in a dirty mop of brown on his head. He looked rather like Jon had when he was small. Her heart clenched painfully at that.

She missed her loving half-brother. And poor Bran. And little Rickon.

Lynette missed home.

The white stallion snorted excitedly when both Lynette and the boy started brushing him down. She decided to speak to the boy, before judgement got the better of her.

"What's your name?"

He looked as startled as an antelope staring down a wolf. His eyes were wide, but duty made him forced to answer. She was high-born, a lady. He had to obey.

"Mah name's Jack, milady."

She smiled kindly and took the bridle he offered her, "Well, Jack, what can you tell me about this one's temperament?"

"Oh, he's well-trained, milady. Pretty, isn't he?"

The big horse bumped the small boy in the chest and Lynette smiled at the bond between them. She slipped some of her coins into his hands and murmured softly, "Go find something to eat, Jack, and come to the Keep if you go hungry again."

He looked close to tears, then but took the pieces of metal and clutched at it with grimy hands as reverently as a mother clutched at a newborn babe. He scurried over to her side and placed a slimy kiss onto her hand.

"Thank yeh kindly, milady. I'll get yer saddle."

"No," she called after him, "I will get it. You go on."

Lynette swung herself up onto the beast's back. She felt his muscles quiver and sat still for a moment to let him get used to the weight. Lynette couldn't help but smile when the animal nickered joyfully. His neck was proudly arched, and he was impeccably trained, heeding her lightest of cues.

She galloped through the woods, her body aching, but her mind awoken by the need to be independent, a small semblance of her life as a Stark to soothe her. She didn't want to accept that her name had changed. She didn't want to be married to Tywin Lannister. She wanted her father to be alive. She wanted Robb to come take her and Sansa away to Winterfell.

As she told Lady Olenna, people wanted a lot of things.

And they didn't always get what they wanted, unless they took it, as Hagar reminded her.

Lynette turned the stallion for home, when she couldn't take the pain any more. The emotional pain was too much for her. Physical pain was bearable to a point. But with every stride the stallion took from the Keep, every inch that she was further away from Joffrey and Cersei and the hateful court and their lies, her heart ached for home.

There was a deep, unspeakable pull that tugged at her heart and reeled her in, homewards. She knew she had to turn back. Sansa would suffer if she didn't. if only they could escape together. If only they hadn't left Winterfell.

Ash snorted angrily when she reined him in to a slow walk. She turned his head to the Keep and felt dread settle over her at the sight of the distant red roofs.

She cursed the sun and wished for snow.

Lynette sat the strong stallion's measured strides with ease and rode through the Mudgate into the Capitol. People swarmed around her and panic gripped her insides, but she relaxed when she spotted little Jack among them. He led her back to the stables, his eyes shining with pride. He had bought food for himself and a few others.

Lannister gold was worth more than she had originally thought.

Smiling, Lynette dismounted and gave the white horse to Jack. She thanked him for his service and was about to leave when a silky voice sounded from behind her.

"The lady has a good seat, but I fear the lion wouldn't take too kindly to his bride running about the Red Keep without a proper escort."

It was Rogoff, with his deep blue eyes and his smooth voice. Lynette smiled when she looked at him, her own grey eyes meeting his without a moment's hesitation. She didn't bother to hide the snarky tone in her voice, "Shouldn't my guard be with me in order to do the escorting he is crooning on about?"

He bowed then, with a flourish of his hands and a respectful nod of his head. When Rogoff lifted his head, he whispered, "The wolf walks swiftly, like water. Mayhaps she should learn to float away from this place just as swiftly."

Lynette was unnerved by the tone of his voice and the conspiratorial way he was talking, as if he was sharing the most precious secret in the world. Lynette followed him out of the stable and back to the Tower. He was using back passageways and they entered catacombs she had never been in. His eyes were focused and he didn't speak again, until he came to a familiar door. He spoke again, his eyes flashing violet in the dim light, "It's best that the wolf remains wild. The lion is tending his pride."

He was gone as soon as he appeared.

Lynette went inside her bedchamber and poured herself a glass of water. She took a sip and walked over to her window. She sat there a moment before pulling turning and watching the curtains of her bed waft in the gentle breeze.

Wait…

She had left them open in her haste to escape the Tower, had she not?

Taking a long look about her room, Lynette set her cup down on the windowsill and took her knife out. She crept up to her bed and _yanked_ the curtains aside.

A scream bubbled up in her throat.

There was a body in her bed. A dead body! There was a dead body in her bed!

Lynette rushed to the side of the bed, ripped away the covers and checked the woman's pulse. Nothing. Her face was ashen, the kind of white color one would associate with death. Her eyes were frightened and her mouth was twisted into a scowl, a terrifying spectacle that made Lynette raise a hand to her mouth. When Lynette looked closely, in the dim light, it shook her to the very core that the woman looked just like her.

Dark hair, pale skin and grey eyes. Their noses weren't the same, the girl's a little slimmer than her own, but other than that and a slight variation in build, they were twins. There were bruises on the dead girl's throat. Even an idiot could tell she had been strangled.

The preferred method of the Queen Regent's lackeys.

Lynette exhaled and forced her body to relax. She was about to call for help, before she espied something else in her bed beside the woman's body: a silvery blue flower.

A winter rose.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank you for reading thus far. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I am having a bit of trouble conveying the emotional war that is raging in both Lynette and Tywin's heads. I want every reader to remember: sex is used in this story as a way of escape, a break from everyday struggle and strife. Both these people have lost a lot, and have hurt a lot of people, have been hurt by many, and are still standing and giving their oppressors the finger.

I admire Tywin Lannister, despite his shortcomings. Charles Dance's fantastic portrayal of Martin's character doesn't necessarily discourage my admiration, if you know what I mean.

Stay tuned! It's a rollercoaster.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 13: ROSES ARE BLUE

 _A winter rose._

 _It was winter in the North, cold and miserable. The wind howled louder than the ghosts of her ancestors' direwolf companions. It cut through the thick material of Lynette's dress and through her flesh, to resonate around her bones. The frost chilled her and iced her heart._

 _She was fourteen, dressed warmly in furs and wore a floppy hat on her head to keep her ears from freezing off, as Old Nan had warned. Her breath condensed in the cold and formed smoke-like billows in front of her mouth._

 _Jon and Robb liked to steal the Smith's pipe and pretend to be smoking when the weather got this extreme. Lynette was feeding her beloved pony Reginald his nightly carrot after her lessons with Septa Mordane. Jory, her escort, was ambling around the stables, rubbing his hands together to generate some warmth._

 _She smiled softly at Reginald when he nibbled at her fingers before shoving his stubby little face into her chest, searching for more food._

 _The winter was cold, yes. Freezing to foreigners. Soothing and resolute to the Northerners, who knew naught else than the honest cold of the North._

 _What was even colder than the howling winds, the sweeping blizzards and the morning frost, however, was the North's pain._

 _It was her aunt Lyanna's birthday. The North was grieving their fiery She-wolf, and the sons they had lost in the war that sought to return her to the North where she belonged._

 _Everyone was tense and anxious, distraught and filled to the brim with dark anger at the injustice of what had befell their Lady all those years ago._

 _The North remembered…_

 _As such, the Stark family's dinner was equally as strained. Jon had made Lady Cat angry again. Lynette's mother refused to accept Jon. He had outgrown his old coat and commented as such to Robb, who wanted to give one of his own to the Snow in turn. Their mother heard of it._

 _Lynette felt her young heart quiver in sadness. Her mother glowered at Jon, her eyes afire._

" _How dare you, bastard?"_

" _How dare you demand the furs of a Winter Lord?! You are not fit to even tie his shoes and yet you sit with us at supper, as if you are our equal!"_

 _Those were her words. Father didn't comment, just kept his eyes on his plate. Lynette didn't want to cry, but the anguish that cut through Jon's dark eyes almost broke her resolve._

 _The entire table was quiet. Nobody dared to move. Lynette quietly looked up at her mother's enraged face. She bit her lip, nerves eating at her._

" _May I please be excused, father?"_

 _Her papa raised his sad grey eyes to her and nodded with a dismissive wave of his hand. She scurried out of the Hall and to her room. She threw open the doors and shucked her way through her closet. Lynette pulled out her newest furs, cut in a way to match her father's, as per her request, and returned to the dinner table._

 _Lynette looked her mother dead in the eye and turned to Jon._

" _Get up, Jon."_

 _He was so used to obeying, gods bless him, that he did so without question. Lynette's heart ached. He was just as tall as she was in his hand-me-down boots. Lynette's heart was pounding in her chest when she lay the rich furs over his strong shoulders and tightened the straps on the front._

 _Her mother was glowering at her when she finished. Lynette wordlessly sat down at her brother Robb's side and picked up her fork again._

" _Lynette Stark," Catelyn seethed, her eyes ablaze with fury, "what do you think you are doing?!"_

 _Lynette's lip quivered, and she summoned all her courage to answer her mother, "I gave Jon my furs, Mother, because he has Stark blood, just like I do. And he is special. Just as we all are."_

 _Her mother left the table. Lynette felt horrible for offending her mother, but it was worth it when she looked up and saw tears streaming down Jon Snow's face, a melancholy smile shining in his gaze._

 _Eddard Stark beheld his daughter, his eldest child, as she sat, head bowed, clutching her cutlery with white knuckles. Pride glowed in his chest, as well as fear. The world was such a dreadful place. What would it do to her?_

" _Come with me, Lynette."_

 _His voice was gravelly and quiet, as if he hadn't spoken all day. He got up from the table and took up his sword._

 _She felt true fear creep up her back at her father's no-nonsense tone of voice. She stood up quietly and followed him out of the castle, over the courtyard, through the blazing wind and the icy air, until they reached the Godswood._

" _Papa?"_

 _Her voice was timid. She didn't want him to hate her. Anything but that. He had said they were both special. Why did Jon not merit a coat of his own, with his father's blessing? He had her blood, if not her mother's._

 _Was he not worth as much as she was, as much as all the other people of the North?_

 _Eddard Stark sat down on 'their' stone, watched with tumult in his eyes as she sat down by his feet as she always did, regardless of the cold and the snow._

" _That was a brave thing yeh did, little wolf."_

 _She shifted slightly, the cold nibbling at her legs._

" _Are you angry with me, Father?"_

 _She rarely called him 'Father'. Always 'Papa'._

 _Just as he rarely called her 'Lynette'. Always his 'little wolf'._

 _Ned shook his head grimly and sighed. He looked broken, sitting there on the stone with his daughter at his feet, and the cold Northern landscape stretched out above them like a blanket of a thousand diamonds._

" _Today is Lyanna's nameday, little wolf. What you did today, is braver than anything I have ever done for Jon… Oh, how I_ _ **miss**_ _her, and seeing him-"_

 _Lynette shook her head automatically, refusing to believe that brave, honorable Ned Stark was a coward. He was her father. He would never betray her trust or her faith. She tasted her tears before she knew she was crying. He couldn't break! He couldn't! Papa was her rock and her strength, her role-model. To see him like this was almost too much to bear._

" _No, Papa. You are the bravest man I know."_

 _He looked at her with tears in his wise eyes, for now she was crying, she couldn't see his own tears and he shed them freely. He didn't ridicule her. He asked her to apologize to her mother. She begrudgingly gave her word._

 _After a while, he wrapped her up in his own fur coat and carried her home._

 _The next morning, there was a flower on her bedside table. With it, a letter in her father's hand. The text was simple, unsigned, but she knew it was him. He always crossed his tee's so low to the loop that the letters looked crossed out._

 _ **Little wolf,**_

 _ **In ways I cannot explain, I find myself looking to you as my guide. Many nights have passed without where I have stood at your crib, wondering if the world will ever be good enough to deserve you.**_

 _ **I have come to a conclusion, little wolf: it never will. It will**_ _ **never**_ _ **deserve you.**_

 _ **I will try to make it better, for you.**_

 _With the note, was a startling blue flower, streaked with silver and gleaming from the freshly melted snow on its petals._

 _A winter rose._

* * *

 _(Continuing from the previous chapter... just to clarify that.)_

The woman's lifeless eyes branded their way into Lynette's every conscious thought.

Who would want to kill a woman who looked like her?

Who would want to kill _her_?

Cersei?

Joffrey?

The Boltons?

Who else would want her dead? She started to think then, pacing about the room with her hand still on her mouth, keeping a scream inside her throat, refusing to look at the body on her bed, lest she hurl the meagre contents of her stomach.

Her brother had made many enemies in the South and the West. Had some lord in the North that felt offended at her choice of husband sent someone to murder her in her sleep? Lynette knew Cersei hated her. Would the Queen Regent send someone to have her strangled?

Yes.

Yes, she most definitely would…

She would _definitely_ do something like that. Perhaps the Queen Regent was afraid that the Little Wolf of Winterfell would somehow turn her father against her by fucking him into submission.

The idea of her fucking Tywin Lannister of all men into submission made her want to laugh. If any woman could accomplish such a feat, she would certainly be an interesting character.

Lynette wanted to throw up, but kept her breakfast inside her stomach by force of iron-will, still refraining from turning her head away from the window. But like the sun was always visible, she saw the dead girl, without even looking at her.

Lynette's head was pounding again.

The dark of night was almost upon them and Lynette was sure that Tywin had heard of her little traipse around the Keep.

Steeling herself, Lynette turned her head and faced the dead woman's eyes. She closed them quickly, dragged the body of the girl out of her bed and wrapped her in the sheets she had been laying in. The girl was naked and there were bruises all over her body. Lynette tried to stop herself from crying. Her hands were shaking when she bound the sheets around the girl and lay the body on the floor beside the bed.

She wrung her hands, mentally trying clean of the invisible stain of blood the girl had left on her, staring up with unseeing eyes into the face of the woman she was mistaken for. The poor girl had been murdered because of her resemblance to Lynette.

If only Lynette could wash the stains of guilt from her soul.

Stains that her father had left when he beheld her with sad grey eyes for the last time, claw marks that Arya had left on her heart left when she disappeared.

They were all still there, and still hurting.

Lynette opened the closet in her room, trying to ignore the dead body only a few feet away from her and dressed herself in the least flashy gown she found. It was blue, with silver stitching. She didn't trouble with taming her hair and just left it unbound. Her cheeks were ashen, almost as white as the poor girl that lay dead by her bed. Her body was tired.

Her mind was alive.

 _Always keep an eye on the enemy._

Lynette opened her door and took the stairs at the arm of Rogoff, her guard. With his strange words of earlier forgotten, he walked his lady to the Throne Room. She would show herself to the court and try to pinpoint who was the most shocked by seeing her alive and well.

The hall fell silent when she entered. She kept her grimace in place and walked straight up to stand beside the Hand. She ignored his bristling posture. Lynette took his arm as manners dictated she should, smiled when she had to and kept herself from staring at Cersei for too long.

A dead girl in her bed.

A dead girl that looked like her.

 _Dear Papa_ , she thought, _What had the world come to?_

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank **you** very much for giving this story a chance! Please review once you have read this chapter. Thank you very much for the positive response I have received already!

This is the first fanfiction that I have written... I was nervous about publishing it.

Happy holidays!


	14. Chapter 14

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 14: MEMORIES

Lynette had not spoken to Sansa since the morning before her wedding.

Lynette knew that she was avoiding her sister. Lynette could face the judgement and whispered insults that Joffrey's court of fools threw at her, but she could not endure her sister's judgement.

In a way, Sansa was all she had in the world. Her brother was fighting a war. Her mother was at his side. Tywin was a means to an end. Her new Lannister family wasn't exactly open to socializing.

Sansa. Sweet, innocent, birdlike Sansa with her perfect courtesies and her beautiful Tully hair.

Sansa was strong in ways Lynette could never dream of being, like their mother.

It was breakfast time, the day after she found the body of the woman in her bed and Lynette was perplexed.

She had sent Rogoff to summon the Master of Whisperers to her private chambers late in the evening. Tywin was working in his solar and his Lannister guards were kept under a firm thumb by Rogoff and his startling blue eyes.

Varys knocked on her door quietly, _thump-thump-pause-thump-thump-thump,_ just as she informed Rogoff to relay to the eunuch. She eased the door open and bundled him inside her room so quickly the corridor was once again empty, and a passerby would not have noticed his presence in the first place.

"My Lady," he started, bald forehead studded with perspiration, "what is the meaning of your late summons?"

There was a frustrated edge to his voice. She ignored it. She would be grumpy too, if someone dragged her away from the privacy of her rooms at such a late hour.

Lynette poured him a glass of wine, before she spoke, "Lord Varys, I require your services."

His eyebrows lifted in question.

"I found a body in my bed after I returned from my afternoon ride. She… she looks ju-just like me. I think it was an attempt on my life."

Higher still, his eyebrows went, almost on his pate.

"I want you to freeze her body for me. If I should ever require a ruse to escape this godforsaken place."

At this, Varys only blinked. Recovering quickly, he said, "My Lady, such services could be potentially dangerous for both of us. What insurances do I have of your silence concerning this matter?"

Lynette only smiled at him, more a grimace than anything else, "You are the Master of Whispers, are you not? Is that not your currency?"

The same dark look she had seen covering his face the day after she had woken from her 'illnesses' returned to his face. It was a staggering transformation. His words were wrapped in the blackest velvet, rich and dark, "Yes, my Lady. I am sure we can decide on a price."

Perhaps Lynette should have thought her offer through. She didn't know what she had just gotten herself into and the look on Varys' face didn't help. There was something strange about him, like he had no allegiances…

A pity he was a eunuch.

It was late in the evening, her first night as a married woman. Propriety dictated that she goes to her husband, as a willing bedfellow.

Lynette locked the door of her chamber. Not that it mattered. Tywin was stull in his solar. She had not heard him return. And that suited her just fine.

Her mind was aching, and she saw the poor woman's eyes everywhere, in the glass of wine she was sipping at, in the dark oak door that Varys closed behind him, in the soft swish of his unnamed healer's robes.

The healer picked up the body of the girl without looking or talking to Lynette. _Did he have a tongue_ , she wondered?

Her room felt filthy and the air smelled like death. Lynette stripped her bed clean of linens and deposited them in a wash basket. If the laundry maid had questions, she would simply make up an excuse involving her and Tywin and their enjoyment of marital rights.

She fell asleep in front of her fireplace, curled up in a blanket. Her thoughts were full of Sansa, and of home, and of the day she left it.

* * *

 _The sun was as flimsy as a bird's wing in Winterfell. The King's caravan had been spotted by Papa's scouts and was said to arrive at Winterfell in a day. The cooks were abuzz with activity and everyone was putting finishing touches on the chambers the King and his Court were to enjoy._

 _Lynette scoffed at the thought._

 _Northerners were built to survive winters and fight wars, not sit, laze and enjoy hearths and wine. She kept her opinions to herself, however. She had promised to help Sansa choose a dress. Her younger sister wanted to look her very best for the Baratheon princeling._

 _Lynette was in her room, a cosy thing with a large fireplace to void off the cold at night and a wardrobe, enjoying a cup of warm tea and a poetry book. It was just passed dawn, and the wintry world around her was just beginning to wake up._

 _Winter was slumbering on her bed. He was her direwolf. The direwolf pup her father had presented her with, was a beautiful animal with bloody eyes and a fine coat of silver that disappeared in the snow._

 _She wasn't dressed yet, but she could steal into Sansa's room in her nightclothes without anyone seeing her so improperly dressed._

 _The eldest Stark heard a knock at her door before she could finish the poem she was reading and stood to answer the call. Winter jerked his head up and whined softly. Before Lynette opened the door, she grabbed a dressing gown from the corner she had tossed it into the previous night, and slung it over her shoulders._

 _Her youngest sister Arya was standing there, with an impish smile on her face and a helmet in hand._

" _Linnie, look at this! I found it in the armoury," Arya gushed, face alight with excitement, "Do you think I look like Visenya Targaryen?"_

 _Lynette chuckled and let her sister into her room, "If you powder your hair white, you might, Arya. And you'd have to grow some more. And turn Nymeria into a dragon while you're at it."_

 _They laughed. Sighing, her littlest sister jumped onto her bed and scratched Winter's ears, "Why aren't you dressed yet? We could go riding before the King comes…"_

" _I think we should. Go tell Jon and Robb. I'll ask Sansa."_

 _Arya smiled and slipped out of her room, quiet as a shadow. She was bent on watching the King enter the castle from a 'better vantagepoint' than beside her siblings like a lady. Lynette had told Arya on numerous occasions to be careful and to keep out of sight when the time came for her to actually see the Royal family._

 _Sansa was still in bed when Lynette opened her door. She wasn't sleeping, just lying under the plush covers with her head peeking out of the furs._

" _Morning, Sansa. Did you dream of handsome princes?"_

 _She sat up and blushed, "I couldn't sleep. I was far too excited about meeting them all!"_

 _Lynette hummed and sat on the foot of her sister's bed. Winter curled himself up at the foot of the bed. Lynette pulled a wayward red curl away from Sansa's lip._

" _Arya and I are going riding. Robb and Jon, too. Do you want to go?"_

 _Sansa thought for a moment. She shook her head, looking slightly disappointed._

" _I can't today, Linnie. Mother promised to help me wash my hair."_

 _Lynette nodded, knowing full well that her sweet sister wanted so badly to impress the young prince. She helped Sansa out of bed and they rummaged through her closet until they settled on a light blue dress with a matching coat. It made Sansa's eyes sparkle._

" _You will look absolutely stunning, Sansa!"_

 _Her sister flushed crimson at her comment. Lynette only smiled._

 _Arya and the boys met her at the stable. They saddled their horses, except Arya who was too short to put the saddle on her mare's back, and rode out of the castle._

 _Their wolves stayed put in the castle._

 _Lynette's mare, Frayn, was dancing around beneath her, the excitement brewing in the air around the four of them clearly contagious. It must have been because of Lynette's wandering thoughts._

 _She, unlike her younger siblings, knew what such a visit from the King would entail. She knew her father would be taken away from her, no doubt to be the King's Hand. She knew that they would all leave the safety that Winterfell provided them with and her father would have to serve the king. It was the only logical reason why a man like Robert Baratheon would ride out to the North with his entire court._

 _Riding always seemed to clear her head, and she wasn't about to let some pompous Royal keep her from it. The king was there to see her father. Sansa or Robb would be tasked with marrying one of the royal children respectively and her half-brother would provide enough drama for her not to be missed._

 _Lynette had learned the courtesies the heir of Winterfell should possess. She could sew to some extent, dance decently and refrained from voicing her wayward opinions to complete strangers._

 _She could swing a sword pretty decently as well._

 _The mere thought of leaving Winterfell overwhelmed her. She had known nothing else. She wasn't engaged to be married and her father hadn't promised her to anyone. She was his eldest child. Winterfell would have been hers to rule if she had been a boy._

 _In truth, Lynette was scared._

 _She was scared of what the move would entail for her family and what would happen to her if they were to leave._

 _Marriage?_

 _Death?_

 _It seemed a normal thing for heirs of great houses to die when their names lost their worth. The world was a brutal place, as her Papa said. There was not a better place on earth to learn that, than Winterfell. The lands were harsh, and the weather could kill a person who wasn't used to it. Death and mortality were a daily part of life._

 _Robb's call of her name jerked her out of her reverie._

" _Lynette! What's the matter with Frayn? Does she need a run?"_

 _Frayn was strong and hardy, a true Northern steed. She served her mistress well. She bore the troubles of her young rider away, too, with every rhythmic stride she took into the wilderness._

 _Lynette shot Robb a cheeky smile, before urging Frayn onwards into a gallop. They rode hard and sure, streaking past trees and little clumps of snow and only slowed when they could no longer see the towers of their home anymore._

 _Lynette desperately wanted to let Frayn run until they reached the Wall. She wanted to get away from the stupid king and his stupid queen and his stupid demands and her stupid duties. Her father was the one constant in her life, and Lynette was too selfish to lose him to the needs of a man who once ordered him to go to war for a woman they both loved._

 _The sun was high when she turned Frayn's head for home. The ride home was shorter, for Frayn was hungry and the heart always managed distance when the body was heading for familiar destinations. Lynette felt dismay settle into her stomach when she espied the caravan. Arya squealed with excitement._

 _She so desperately wanted to see the Lannister dwarf. She told Jon as much._

 _They meandered on home, leaving a trail of hooves from the hills back to the castle._

 _Lynette leapt to the ground, hastily handed Frayn over to a stable lad named Willard and begged him to walk her cool. Her breath was ragged as she ran into the courtyard just as her Lady Mother appeared._

 _Following her mother's gaze, she smirked when she saw Bran climbing down from the spire of the Broken Tower._

 _She arrived at her mother's side, just as Bran sped away._

" _Good morning, Mother. Did Cook have you taste the pudding? She asked me to remind you."_

 _Catelyn turned and smiled, "Yes, Lynette. Good morning to you, too. Sansa's dress looks beautiful. She told me you helped her choose it."_

 _Lynette hummed, took her mother's arm and they walked back to her room._

" _Will you wear the grey dress that Shella made?" her mother asked._

 _A grimace ran through Lynette. The 'grey dress' her dear mother was referring to was a heavy monstrosity that weighed more that Rickon did soaking wet. Her mother's eyes shined whenever she spoke of it._

" _If you want me to, Mother."_

 _Lynette washed and dressed quickly, and precariously ran down to the courtyard. She took her place beside her Papa just gates snapped open and the first mounted guards appeared, their horses looking strong and proud despite their long journey._

 _They were followed by who Lynette presumed to be the Hound, a Kingsguard and a skinny looking boy with golden hair._

 _Ah, the prince. She could already see Sansa begin fall for him. Arya was nowhere to be seen, and her place beside Bran was empty._

" _Arya Stark!"_

 _Her sister appeared. She wore the helmet from earlier, her clothes were still dirty from their early ride and when Lynette looked closer, she could see some white streaks in Arya's dark hair._

 _Gods above, she tried to powder it!_

 _If only Arya knew what Robert Baratheon did to Targaryen children…_

 _There was a strange anticipation in her stomach as she waited for the king to appear. She wanted to see the strong warrior her father told them stories about. She was disappointed when she saw a fat man astride a black destrier instead. A carriage followed behind him._

 _She didn't get to look for long, because they were bowing a second later._

 _It went to hell from there._

 _The king embraced her parents before turning his attentions to her. There was something in his eyes, some flicker of recognition. A pale girl, with dark hair next to Eddard Stark?_

" _You must be Lynette."_

 _Lynette didn't know what to say. She smiled tightly before he moved on and spoke to the rest of her siblings. The wind was cold. The king and her lord father left for the crypts and Lynette and her mother welcomed their guests into their home._

 _As soon as the feast was announced, she went outside to see to Jon._

 _The air was biting, in the training field, but the cold was normal. She had grown used to it. It was an honest thing, the cold._

 _Jon was talking to the infamous Imp that Arya so desperately wanted to see. The little man was dressed in Lannister red and gold. He was an odd little creature, with a mop of golden-black hair and mismatched eyes of green and black._

 _Lynette slunk around the little Lord and behind Jon. She smiled sneakily and wrapped her arms around his waist with a giggle. He started and Lynette ducked to the ground to avoid the sword he had swung at her head._

" _Linnie, what in the hells? I could have…" his deep voice was worried, but there was humour in his poetic tone. His melancholic eyes smiled where his lips could not. If the surname 'Snow' didn't stain his name, he would have been mistaken for a young Eddard._

 _She sniggered and punched him in the shoulder good naturedly. She ruffled his girly hair, ignored his annoyed growl and smiled cheekily at him. Her voice was laced with mischief, "But you didn't."_

 _Lynette turned around to face the little man that was sipping happily at his flask of wine, eyeing her with interest._

" _Lord Tyrion, I presume. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."_

 _He looked up at that, a shrewd smirk resting firmly on his face. She smiled again, thoroughly intrigued by the little Lannister. He raised his flask in her direction, before he drawled, a Lannister trait she would one day come to smile at, "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Stark."_

 _Jon came to her side and led her back to the door she had come out of only minutes before. He looked so sad, his eyes so profoundly confused when he said, his words more offhand dismissal than casual remark, "You're needed, Lynette."_

 _She hit him again._

 _Rather hard, hoping to beat some sense into his dense head._

 _Jon clutched his bruised shoulder and looked at her with confusion all over his face. She scowled at him. Her eyes were blazing._

" _Do you really think I want to leave you alone with your thoughts?"_

 _He looked so small, so impossibly melancholy._

 _There was a silence, before she spoke again, "Don't worry. Mother will save some lamb pie for you. And don't break the bloody dummy! What did it ever do to you?"_

 _She smiled at him before she returned to the hall and took her seat beside Sansa. She ate her dinner and smiled at her youngest sister's antics. Robb and Theon were eyeing a serving girl with a lowcut dress and a bosom that could make the gods blush._

" _You look beautiful in your dress, Linnie. Is it the one Shella sewed?"_

 _Her sister smiled tersely, adjusting the corset, "It is, Sansa. I can't really move, but I suppose Mother will be glad that I wore it."_

" _I think so. Shella worked so hard on it."_

 _Lynette felt self-conscious. She didn't have curves. She was tall and rather lanky. Her mother called her to the high table, were the Southern Queen sat beside her Lady Mother in a brightly coloured dress and a fancy hairstyle. Her green Lannister eyes were as cold as the Northern ice that surrounded Lynette's home._

 _Curtsying, Lynette greeted her, "Good evening, my queen."_

 _The tight smile that fell across the queen's plump mouth was enough to make Lynette inwardly grimace. It looked strained, but as the King's rumbling laughter crashed into her ears, Lynette didn't really mind. If she was married to a man who seemed hell bent on drinking himself into an early grave, shaming his name and house while at it, she would find a way to end him._

" _I trust the road was quiet, your grace."_

 _The queen smiled tightly again, nodded before reaching for her wine and took a hearty swallow._

 _Royal drunkards, the lot of them, Lynette mused._

 _There was no telling what secrets were spilled when wine loosened one's tongue._

" _Yes, it was. How old are you?"_

" _Fifteen, your grace."_

 _The queen hummed and took another sip of wine. Whether she was exasperated, or bored out of her mind, remained to be seen._

 _Sansa appeared beside Lynette, clutching her arm. The eldest Stark was thankful to escape the Queen's pensive presence. She bade her family good night and left the hall. She snuck into the kitchens, stole an apple and scampered out into the courtyard for the second time that night. There were a few lanterns burning in the stables, but Lynette knew the way to Frayn's stall like the back of her hand._

 _The mare ate her treats greedily. It was Lynette's way of apologizing for leaving her alone earlier that day._

 _Lynette stiffened when she heard footsteps behind her. She didn't recognize them. The jingle of metal armour assured her it was a knight of some sort. Closer. They were moving toward her._

 _Theon was probably hounding the whorehouse. The soldiers were probably looking for entertainment elsewhere._

 _Lynette's heart thudded, fear creeping up her spine._

 _The wolf swung around met hard, empty eyes. She raised a hand to her mouth, shock wearing off. She knew she ought to curtsy._

 _She nodded her head._

 _Sandor Clegane was pissed to the deepest of the seven hells. He was freezing in the Northern weather and had already been bored half to death by the monotonous scenery. He missed the excitement and the stench of shit and cum that rested like a fog over King's Landing. The most recent of his excursions, a trip to the North, was sorely disappointing._

 _He could no longer take the king's drunken laughter or the prince's incessant complaining. The Hound, bored out of his mind by a Northern feast held in his king's honour, sought the company of his horse to get away from the yapping of drunken madmen._

 _There was a figure stroking a chestnut. He paid no mind to it, a little tipsy and a touch too frustrated, both from the road and a month without a good fight, to do more than stride past._

 _Eyes snapped up to his own before he could do anything._

 _It made him sober up quite quickly. Stark's eldest daughter. Her eyes were as grey as the Northern sky and he knew for a fact that she was one of the riders he saw on the hills when they arrived._

 _They stared at one another, she miserably trying to hide her shock at the sight of his burned face. He felt annoyance surge up his spine._

" _Have you had enough to eat, Master Clegane?"_

 _Sandor scowled at her and muttered something about rich cunts and foolish little girls. Her eyes were honest though. For the sake of that, he answered her._

" _Aye."_

 _He walked past her, straight for Stranger's stall. The beast whickered in recognition. Stark's daughter moved about, and he watched her from the corner of his eye. She approached him cautiously, a pail of grain in her hand._

 _She left it a few feet away from him, a twisted sort of truce._

 _Lynette returned to the feast in time for the pudding. It was good._

 _Her rest that night, was horrible, plagued with nightmares and worries. She dreamt of ravens and snow, and terrible fear._

 _When she woke, however, those dreams seemed nothing compared to the reality that she and her family were forced to face._

* * *

 _Author's note:_

PLEASE READ!

I want to thank the readers who took some time to review.

The previous chapter was hard to write. Thank you to 'Pack of one' who reviewed and explained the dynamic between Jon and Catelyn. I haven't read Martin's books, and had to rely on the series to give me some insight as to their relationship. What I do want to stress, is that I tried to create conflict (very poorly, I'm afraid) between Cat and Lynette for my next chapters to have some grounding.

Cat was angry, because of Lyanna's birthday reminding her of the war and Ned's betrayal and how she must have felt when he brought Jon back to Winterfell with him. Robb wanted to give Jon his coat, the Heir to Winterfell's coat, thus making him "equal" to her and Ned's legitimate children. I don't know how to explain it... I wanted to portray just how much she was affected by her husband's absence and how much it hurt her in a deep way to be daily reminded that her husband laid with another woman. It is my first fan fanfiction. I am still learning. (Excuses, excuses... :-) )

The trading of cloaks bear some significance later in the story.

Thank you for helping me. Please feel free to review again, with more insight to the characters. I don't want to wreck Martin's characters in my ignorance.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 15: SISTERLY AFFECTION

It was morning again.

Sansa hadn't slept a wink.

It had been days since she had last seen her sister. Lynette had been seen riding some days ago, but other than that, Sansa heard nothing from, or about her. Not even the Lannister guards that followed her around knew where their new lady was.

Shae would come to 'wake' her soon. Sansa was worried about her sister. Lynette was hellbent on honoring the promise that she made to their father: protecting her and Arya.

Sansa only hoped and prayed that Lynette's husband had been kind to her. She knew what happened on wedding nights. Joffrey had been very descriptive whenever they were alone, and she was still his intended bride. She sent Shae to Lynette the day after her sister's wedding, to assure herself that Lynette was still alive.

It did little to soothe her nerves.

She pretended to be asleep when Shae slipped inside her room and opened her curtains. Sansa did a good job of waking up and stretching, even though she had not slept at all.

"Good morning, Sansa. How are you?"

"I'm alright, Shae."

The foreign maid fussed with Sansa's wayward hair and looked at her worriedly, taking note of the deep bags under her eyes, "Are you sure?"

Sansa simply nodded and stepped into her adjoining washroom. She washed her face and let Shae brush her hair, dressed in her finery and forced a smile onto her face.

She would go to Joffrey's court and wait for her sister.

They had much to speak of…

She opened the door of her rooms with a determined set of her jaw.

Lynette's grey eyes stared back at her.

They didn't know who grabbed the other first. Lynette was whimpering apologies into Sansa's crimson hair. She didn't want to let go of her sister just yet.

She wanted to hold on to her past, her life as Lynette Stark of old, her memories of her family when it was whole, and she could still picture her father's soft smile and the tender look in her mother's Tully eyes.

Sansa wasn't faring any better.

She had a vice-like grip on Lynette, worry seeping out of her like water from a sluice at seeing her sister unharmed.

When they did release their hold on each other, Sansa was the first to speak.

Her voice, like her disposition, was filled with an understanding that exceeded her years.

"Why him, of all men, Lynette?"

There was a moment of silence, the terse, deep kind that you hear at a funeral, echoing and raging around you.

Lynette grabbed Sansa's pale hand and all but hauled her out of her apartments.

Sansa voiced her protest, but Lynette kept walking, hurrying out of the Keep and into the gardens. Lynette didn't speak until she and her sister were sitting on the secluded bench that she and Lady Olenna had sat on when Lynette went to her for advice about Tywin.

They sat down.

Sansa was panting lightly.

"Sorry, Sansa. I can't speak freely in that godawful place…"

Sansa nodded her agreement. She took Lynette's hand in her own.

"Did he hurt you, Linnie? Like Rhaegar with Aunt…"

Lynette's fingers tightened around Sansa's own. She shifted until she was facing her sister. There was a concerned frown on Lynette's face.

"Oh, Sansa, darling… have you been worrying this entire time?"

A tear pricked in her sister's eyes.

That was answer enough.

Sighing, Lynette said, "He didn't hurt me. Not like Rhaegar, or Joffrey. He was kind, in his own way."

A visible load was lifted of off Sansa's face and a small sparkle of light entered her sister's eyes.

"Why did you say yes to him, Linnie? Ser Jaime or Ser Tyrion I can understand to some extent, but Lord Tywin is so…so…"

"Old?"

They burst out laughing. Lynette hummed when their laughter ceased. She looked down at hers and Sansa's hands.

So simple an image.

Yet such a staggering visage.

Lynette was punched in the gut by the gravity of her situation.

She didn't want to lose Sansa. She couldn't bare it.

"It's a relatively simple story, my sweet sister."

Lynette sprang to her feet, gripping her skirts. She couldn't stomach the tale while sitting down.

"I went to him after you cried about Joffrey and having to marry Tyrion. I asked Ty- the Hand why he would waste such an opportunity to secure himself the North by marrying his heir to the younger Stark girl, as I am your elder and I could give him his precious Legacy. We spoke again. Then he told me I was marrying him and not Tyrion and then…"

Sansa looked stupefied. Her already pale face looked ashen.

Lynette was instantly reminded of the nameless woman whom she found dead in her bed. She had the coloring that Sansa sported.

Ashen faced Sansa.

Dead Sansa…

Lynette shook the disturbing thought out of her head and banished it to the deepest of the seven hells.

Sansa's lip quivered, "You mean you did it because I-"

Lynette's eyes were hard as ice when they bored into Sansa's own, "Don't you dare blame yourself Sansa! I love you, and I would do anything for you and Arya. _Never_ forget that. I promised Papa that I would look after you."

Sansa looked about ready to cry her heart out. Lynette hugged her sister again, cooing into her red hair, "I want you to marry someone you love, Sansa. A man who would love you so fiercely you'd feel warm in winter, and loved in arguments, and at peace with your soul. I want you to marry someone who would never leave you wont for affection, who would rather hurt themselves than hurt you."

Sansa whimpered, and they clung to each other tighter than before.

They were once again reminded of the fact that they were alone, two wolves in a den of hungry lions.

Rogoff escorted her sister back to her chambers after the pair of them had recovered from their emotional 'episode'.

Lynette was in the library, reading about Tytos Lannister, her late father-in-law. She knew that if she was to use her marriage to Tywin to her and her sister's inevitable advantage, she would have to move her pieces in accordance to her plan.

Tywin was a hard man, that much she knew, but Lynette was sure that he wasn't as beastly as history made him out to be. Sure, he was a ruthless enemy to have, but Lynette couldn't deny his efficiency. No man could.

He knew that power came from sacrifice.

He utilized power and he could control and conduct himself according to the power that he acquired.

She would just have to take a page out of his book and learn how to do it herself.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

This chapter is just a 'filler' of sorts. Thank you for all the readers who favourited and followed this story. Your support is much appreciated. I hope that you enjoyed the holidays. Now that the madness is over, I will update more regularly. Please review the next chapter. I hope I delivered the desired message.

X


	16. Chapter 16

**The Collared Wolf**

 _by Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 16: BITTER TASTE OF ACCEPTANCE

The king wanted to go on a hunting trip.

He had claimed that he was going to hunt a stag. Strange for a Baratheon.

Lynette and Sansa were in the Godswood. Sansa was praying, no doubt for Robb to rescue them. The elder sister was lost in memories of her father and all his calming wisdom. Her heart felt hollow.

The court had viewed her with a new sort of reverence. Lynette knew that she didn't have true respect yet. She was still the daughter of a traitor to some of the court. Now that she was married, Joffrey didn't dare touch her or her sister. For that mercy, her individual objective, she felt grateful.

Joffrey still regarded her with anger and scorn in his Lannister eyes, but she didn't know whether it was because she had married his grandfather or was the reason his lackeys were dead. She suspected it was a combination of both.

Rogoff kept by her side. He didn't let her out of his sight again. He followed her like a second shadow.

Lynette was confused by her newfound liberties as a wife. In the course of three days, she had wed the most powerful man in Westeros, consummated their marriage and all but took advantage of him like a common whore the morning after their wedding night.

She hadn't spoken to Tywin about her behavior. After her reading, and her studying in the library, she knew how much he hated whores, and their foolish conduct. When Rogoff escorted her sister to her rooms, she retired to her chambers in the adjoining rooms of the Tower of the Hand and bolted her door.

She went to court with Tywin the next day, with her head held high, still refusing to speak to him except when the people demanded it with silent, judgmental eyes.

The king made crude comments about what had obviously occurred the previous evening, but Tywin fixed him a stern glare and the discussions about Robb's recent victory continued on.

The walk back to the Tower was silent and strained. Lynette felt as if her hands were shaking up a small earthquake. She wanted to talk to him and ask him what the bloody hell he wanted from her and when he wanted it, but she didn't know how. She didn't know how to confront him about the affairs of her marriage bed. She didn't know how to apologize for the way she acted. She just wanted some sanctuary in the lion's den.

Strange she sought it in the arms of the Great Lion himself.

Lynette forced her mind back to her present situation: the Godswood, with Sansa. The redhead lifted herself off her knees and dusted her dress. She came to sit beside her sister. She didn't speak, just rested her head against Lynette's shoulder. Sansa didn't have to say anything. Lynette understood.

"Don't cry, Sansa. We'll be alright."

Margery came sweeping down the steps with her trademark smirk resting on her lips. She greeted both of them with a friendliness one could only hope was genuine. If it proved to be false, well – both Starks would be in for a surprise or two if her and Lady Olenna's friendship proved a farce.

"My favorite Northern beauties!"

Sansa blushed daintily at the compliment, but Lynette perceived it to be flattery. She smiled at Margery, more because she wanted to smile and less because she was happy to see the Tyrell. Lynette knew the future queen was not a maid. She would want to know all about her wedding night with the Lion of Lannister. The cool chills of possessive jealousy swept over her. Lynette brushed it away as quickly as it appeared.

Olenna must have gave the girl a talking to, because Margery just hooked her arm through Sansa's and set them on a course to the heart of the garden where the Queen of Thornes sat reviewing tiresome needlepoints.

Sansa and Margery were chatting about dresses and some Lord that once unhorsed a younger Loras in a joust. Lady Olenna's intelligent company and stimulating conversation were a welcome reprieve. Lynette was agitated. Her skin was as cold as ice, frost settling around her bones.

Something was wrong in the North. Lynette knew that Sansa could feel it too. They were Starks after all.

Olenna's onyx eyes glinted, "And, dearie? Are you unsatisfied with your Lion?"

Lynette of old would have blushed. It seemed that her embarrassment was lost with her virtue. For the time being, anyway. She suspected she was too tired to be embarrassed. Her mind kept drifting back to the girl that was murdered in her bed.

"No, my lady."

Olenna was unimpressed, clearly wanting more details, but thankfully said nothing. Her dark eyes scanned Lynette's posture but flitted away before Lynette could get uncomfortable under the older woman's scrutiny.

* * *

That evening, a messenger summoned her to dine with her husband. Lynette had Rogoff escort her back into the Keep. He was a calming balm to her nerves. She enjoyed his humor so much, it allowed her to escape.

Lynette was aware that she would be late if she first went to change her clothes.

She did it anyway. The dress she wore was deep grey. It was in the Northern style, but cut a little higher than normal. It was a simple dress, but it made her look like well enough. She needed to show him that she wasn't letting go of her name or her heritage.

Tywin was reclining into his chair at the head of the mahogany table. His one knee was propped on the spindle of his chair and his arm rested on it quite lazily. He looked bored. A cup of wine dangled almost precariously from his fingertips. His face was relaxed and the stern lines didn't appear as stern. The Lion was wearing his courtly clothes.

Lynette wanted to smirk. Perhaps they had become his armor, like cold courtesies wrapped in warnings had become her own.

How he managed to be attractive and remain his threatening visage, was beyond her. She ignored that thought. She had no time to dally with feelings when she had a Game to play and a sister to protect. If only she could convince her conniving heart otherwise.

"Lord Lannister."

Her voice shook at the syllable. She quickly righted herself and sat down beside him. Tywin was looking at her. Not leering, just looking at her. Perceiving, taking in the details of her appearance. He was studying her.

She was silent.

Her heart was pounding.

She didn't want to look at him because whenever her eyes met his, she remembered her behavior the previous day. Anger surged though her: her place was set directly beside his own, on the same chair he had pulled her closer to his sinful hands.

Lynette dished moderate helpings of food onto her plate. She accepted water from Tywin's cupbearer. They ate slowly, Lynette growing more and more uneasy with every passing second. Her breathing was growing heavier and her grip on the cutlery was white-knuckle tight.

When she could no longer endure the thick tension in the room, Lynette blurted, "I apologize."

Tywin hummed and turned to face her with raised eyebrows, almost as if he just remembered she was there. The naughty glint in his eyes made her want to stab him in the hand with her steak knife, just to see him bleed- a way for her to remind herself that he was a human and not some callous statue.

Lynette wanted to growl at him. The nerve! Apparently, he reveled in her awkwardness and wanted to hear her say the words… Bloody fool!

"I apologize for the way I acted this morning. It was…" she took a sip of water and turned her focus to her meal, purposefully avoiding his eyes, "well, I suppose I should say unbecoming of a lady."

"I thought we agreed you aren't a lady."

Lynette cast him a glance. A timid one, but heated nonetheless. She would have laughed if her heart wasn't thundering away in her chest like a horde of Wildmen stamping their feet on a plane. She bristled, before snapping, "Are you enjoying this, my lord?"

A smirk tugged at his mouth. He took a sip of his wine and leisurely popped a piece of chocolate into his mouth. The bloody nerve. Tywin looked at her, sidelong and lazy, as if her presence somehow insulted him. His eyes twinkled, "It appears, little wolf, that you enjoyed it more."

The anxious energy that was bubbling inside Lynette, as well as the harrowing feeling of betraying her kin, and the punch of pained longing -for what she didn't know- all gave way to pure frustration. Quick as a flash, she raised herself to her feet. She enjoyed her new vantagepoint, because it meant she could look down on him. In the literal sense. Tywin Lannister wasn't a man who simply let others walk over him.

He had started wars for less than a pointed glare sent his way.

Her heart wrenched at the name. _Little_ _wolf_. The endearment seemed strange on his lips, _wrong_. She folded her napkin to stop her hands from shaking.

"If you ever call me that again, I'll have your tongue, Tywin Lannister."

The calm sound of her voice sparked pride in the Lannister's chest. Any other woman would have screamed at him. She didn't. He raised his glass to her in a toast, "Well done."

Incredulous annoyance settled over her. This time, she did let it show.

"Well done?"

"Anger is the first sign of defeat. Weakness I cannot afford."

Her mouth snapped closed at that, taking in the information, processing it before storing it in the forefront of her mind. It didn't ease her apprehension, but it was useful. Lynette's hands tightened around the back of her chair. The servants took their plates away, but Lynette remained standing.

She swallowed her tears. _Acceptance_. It was necessary for her to accept that her marriage was a political one and that she would never enjoy the love her mother and father had for one another. To Tywin Lannister, she was a broodmare.

Heavens forbid she be upgraded to country hack.

"Lessons," she scoffed and fixed him a blank look, "you give lessons when I am trying to apologize for…"

This time, when her voice faded, the Lion stood up as well, towering over her. She didn't shrink back in fear. Tywin set his cup down on the table. His voice was quiet when he spoke, patronizing, "Apologize for what? Sleeping with your husband?"

Her eyes snapped at him, flint-like and harsh. The wolf reared its head, scratched at its collar and growled at its captor. Lynette didn't know how he could be so intelligent when it came to matters of state and still so daft when it came to her. Maybe he knew what she was saying, and understood her awkwardness, but chose to ignore it.

Lynette couldn't decide which was worse.

"For fucking the _enemy_. And for enjoying it"

Check. The verbal war could go whichever side now. If Tywin managed to serve a decent counter-attack, she would lose. If he didn't, however, she would win.

He kept her gaze, daring her to become angry. She didn't and kept herself in control. He didn't say anything. A surrender, perhaps? Lynette knew she was fooling herself. Tywin Lannister didn't surrender. Time ticked on and neither said anything, until a small smile tugged at the edge of the Lion's mouth.

"Well, my lady, we've arrived at an impasse, then."

 _Checkmate_.

All of Lynette's defenses went up again, laying walls of stone around her icy heart. Did he enjoy her as well? Why did she feel relieved at that? Her mother would have told her to make him loathe bedding her, because he was a _Lannister_ , by all the gods and he was the _enemy_. But was it wrong for a wife to enjoy her husband? Surely not, or they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of marrying and swearing vows in the Sight of the Seven.

Her shock was apparent. She shrunk back from him, suddenly afraid. That made him step forward. Again, she tensed, awaiting a blow.

Tywin took stock of her then, from her toes to her crown, and cursed how taut her muscles were pulled. _The bloody bastard of a king,_ he growled at his inner-voice. Her chest heaved once, filling her lungs with air before he saw her visibly force herself to relax.

"What did he do to you?"

Lynette dropped her head, recoiling from the calm rage in his posture. He made no move to come closer to her, but she could feel his warmth on her front. His skin was like a furnace. She wondered how it was possible for a person to be so warm by nature. Her head was filled with his scent, cinnamon, metal and leather clouded her thoughts.

When she gathered herself, she said, "Many things."

Tywin left it at that. He didn't want her to cry because he couldn't stand tears. He didn't know how to handle them, and it upset him to see another person reveal such blatant emotion. Unnerving, to say the least. She led them to the fire with a hand on his arm. The faint whisper of cold from her fingers drew him away from thoughts of his darling Joanna.

 _That_ was more unnerving.

"Will you go with the king to hunt, my lord?"

He sat down by the fire, and drawled, "If the king insists."

Lynette smiled slowly at his exasperation with the king. Tywin Lannister truly did rule the Seven Kingdoms and not Joffrey. A crown doesn't give a person power. Power is made. If you want power, you'll have to take it. Tywin Lannister had power. And wealth. And the North.

"Margery requested I accompany her. May I?"

Tywin looked at her again, with millions of thoughts running through his eyes like gold through a mountain. He looked amused then. Was he entertaining thoughts of her tumbling from a horse? Was he weighing the cost of his investment should she break her neck from the fall? She didn't care. She longed for woodlands and open grasslands and the smell of horse sweat.

Anything that would remind her of home.

"If you wish to."

Lynette's mind went back to another time he had said those exact words to her. When pain sizzled through her and his warm hands were what held the ragged remains of her sanity together. She dared not let it show on her face. Tywin didn't do anything without a purpose. He was testing her resolve by making her uncomfortable.

"Thank you, my lord."

Whether it was the longing in her eyes or the pain in her tight smile, Tywin didn't know. He had agreed to let his wife accompany him on the king's hunt. Foolish! She could be injured and he would lose all the progress he had made. Then, he would have to either marry Sansa Stark or give her to Tyrion. Or, marry his daughter to Robb Stark…

The thought of Cersei's face contorting with rage was enough to draw him back to reality. He was sitting beside his _girl_ , this wisp of a woman that sat with him in front of a fire, making mindless conversation. A strange feat for Tywin Lannister. Duty commanded he should have her beneath him again, but he didn't have the energy to explain himself to her, and instead sat deeper into the chair.

She was truly magnificent. He watched her staring into the flames with awe on her face. The reflection of the flames danced around in her eyes and her face was warmed and golden. When she leant forward, the soft swell of her breast beckoned to him. Truly magnificent.

Tywin didn't have the energy to shove his thoughts into the back of his mind. He just kept thinking them, studying her. It made him forget of the infinite sadness in his heart. His wife, Joanna, had let scars on his heart, too. Just as he assumed Lynette's family left on hers.

The silence that enveloped them was no longer strained.

It was peaceful.

Lynette was at peace, simply because she didn't have to say anything. Tywin was at peace, and marveling at the soothing effect of the silence. The hub-bub and bustle of the Hand's everyday duties were beginning to tire him. He wished the King would just marry the Tyrell girl quietly and be done with it.

The moon was high when Lynette looked up at the lion she had wed. He wasn't asleep, but his eyes were drooping and he was rubbing at them every so often. Smiling inwardly, she felt a soft twinge of guilt wrap around her. She didn't think of him. Only of herself, like a selfish brat.

"Should I retire, my lord? Or- do you want …?"

Tywin stood to his feet, relieved she finally saw he was tired. She looked scared again, not like the wanton little vixen that had coerced him the previous day. And coerce him, she did. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lips wrapped around that blasted apple. If he wasn't tired…

The Lion of Lannister said nothing. It irritated her to see him enjoy her discomfort. He held out his hand. Lynette took it, stomping on the flicker of excitement in her belly. He led her to his chambers. Every step she took nearer to the intricately carved doors, her fingers tightened around his.

He noticed, and smoothed a thumb over her knuckles.

Lynette started to undress when they entered the room. She was shy, ashamed of the scars he was subjugated to look upon and terrified of bringing shame down on her family again. She gingerly eased the dress off her shoulders and set it aside. The room was warm and bathed in the muted light of the fire. It was richly decorated. Fine chairs in front of the fire, a large desk arranged to catch the light of the windows on a sunny day. The rugs were soft and thick under her feet when she took off her shoes.

His bed – well, after what happened in it, she supposed she could call it theirs – was sturdy and made of the same wood as his desk. The covers were warm and looked rather inviting. She looked up to see her husband sit down on the bed she'd been studying. He was taking off his boots. Tywin met her eyes, watched her watch him and pulled his tunic over his head.

Lynette swallowed thickly. Her hands were shaking so much she couldn't undo her corset. He looked like a lion stalking its prey when he advanced. The heat of his body slipped across her sides, over the icy skin of her neck, down her legs.

"Would you sleep next to me?"

Her hands stilled themselves on the laces of her corset. Incredulous, again, when her eyes locked onto his. Tywin put a hand on her shoulder, slipped it up to pull her face to his. He expected her to answer him. Straightening herself defiantly, Lynette found her voice, "Is that permitted?"

His hands burned her, like your toes did when you dipped them into a warm bath after a cold day.

The Great Lion of House Lannister felled by the grey eyes of his Northern wife.

A smile tugged at her lips. His eyes danced. He could do whatever he pleased. She would do whatever she pleased in turn, if he was allowed that liberty.

Intimacy sparked between them. He was so close to her. This time, when he turned her around to unlace the infernal corset, she let him. He was gentler than he was on their wedding night, but still fast. Every time his fingers brushed her back, which she was sure was purposeful, a breath escaped her and she bit her lip.

Tywin was so _warm_.

When he was finished, he led her to his bed and lay down beside her. She turned her back to him and forced herself to sleep. It was a long time until she heard his breath even out. Strong arms slunk around her waist and drew her cold back into his chest.

Lynette turned her face around to look at him, careful not to wake him. His eyes were closed and the severity of his face eased away with his consciousness. A soft smile crossed her face. The warmth was blissful.

She slept peacefully in his arms, the first time her sleep was restful since they came to King's Landing.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank **you** for sticking with me!

Please review this chapter. It's a bit choppy, that's why I'm asking. New chapters Monday... xx


	17. Chapter 17

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 17: DESKS AND LETTERS

Joffrey _was laughing._

 _She couldn't stop thinking about the cruel sound of it. It echoed in her mind, rang through her head, clawing -took hold- and refused to let her go. Her mouth was bleeding and her limbs were aching. Supporting her own weight was too much for them._

 _She lay there._

 _There… in the King's court with her blood staining the ground on which her uncle and grandfather burnt, on the cold marble floor. Her back was making a bloody mess on the pristine floors. Her dress, or what remained of it, was in a torn mess at Ser Meryn's feet._

 _Her eyes crept un his leg, to where the empty scabbard of his sword hung._

 _Any one of her father's guards would never have dared part from their weapons. Blount was holding the weapon._

 _Her mouth was bruised. Her tongue felt swollen and she tasted tears._

 _Joffrey chained her hands and feet. She couldn't move, her limbs were numb with disgust. Every inch of her skin felt dirty._

 _Lynette and Jon had a mud fight once, flinging clods of dirt at one another with sticks. Her mother made her sew thirty kerchiefs after her Septa had scrubbed her clean. Her skin was covered in mud again, not real mud._

 _Joffrey ordered Ser Meryn to whip her._

 _Ser Boros Blount punched her in the face when she tried to squirm out of their slimy grasp. Ser Meryn came at her, whip lashing across her back before a scream of horror could escape her. She gagged and fought and bit, but fists pounded into her ribs everytime she moved._

 _It was over rather quickly, but she kept fighting every step of the way. Her hands were bleeding and the skin of her ankles were chafed open._

 _Blount dragged her back to her chambers. Joffrey's laughter kept echoing in her mind. The sickening sound didn't leave her alone, clung to her like the old distyles did in the forest._

 _Lynette lay sobbing on her floor for hours after Blount threw her inside. She dragged herself up and flung the shredded dress into the hearth and watched it burn. She wished that it could burn the feeling of their hands away. Her body was aching. Her ribs were blue and there were bruises all over her sides and shoulders. Her dress took most of the beating, however. There were welts on her back, but only a few cuts thankfully._

 _She scrubbed her skin until it was red and bleeding some places where she scratched her skin open._

 _Lynette wished that she could scrub the grimy imprints that their hands made on her soul, but found that not even her nails could reach that deep._

* * *

Lynette saw little of her husband the days leading up to their departure for the hunt.

Lord Varys checked in with her often and Lynette knew he was wordlessly inquiring as to her plans with the dead girl he had on ice.

It would be a suitable double if Lynette ever needed to escape the Capitol and buy herself some time. She was sure that her husband would be able to determine that it was not her, but Lynette knew that she had to entertain the possibility of escape if she was going to remain sane.

Her days were routine. She would wake up, where she would rise depending on Tywin, eat breakfast with her sister in her chamber, read for a few hours and go riding with Rogoff or Bronn. She and Tywin would eat the last meal of the day together and retire.

He had not claimed his conjugal rights since she had eaten the apple.

Lynette was frustrated.

And bored.

There was also a traitorous longing deep inside her to escape the hateful memories and nightmares alike that plagued her sleep and haunted her waking steps.

She wanted him. She wanted him to quiet her mind.

She said nothing to her husband about the matter and dug her nails into the side of her thigh when his deep voice woke more than just perception inside her. If he knew about the effect he had on her, the lion said nothing. He was far too preoccupied with 'matters of state' to pay her and her reprobate thoughts any mind.

 _Matters of state._

She scoffed.

Lynette feared for her family, considering Robb's most recent victory was a shocking blow to the King's forces.

Olenna was no help either. The woman had a strange view on sex. She once said to Lynette when the wolf had finally gathered the courage to ask her about it, that if her body was not meant to experience and enjoy pleasure, then she would have been a log with the ability to give heirs. Margery told her to 'tend to the matter herself' but Lynette fled the conversation with red cheeks.

Cersei avoided Lynette like she had the plague. Rogoff assured her that nobody was following her and that no-one was going to hurt her, but Lynette still took precautions. She requested more guards and had them stand guard at Sansa's door. The redhead was not impressed, but Lynette ignored her.

* * *

Margery summoned her, and like a dutiful lady, Lynette went. Rogoff escorted her, and knocked on the door. It swung open. They walked inside.

"Margery, are you in here?"

The room was beautiful and airy, decorated with a countless amount of bouquets of roses and flowers. It gave off a sweet smell that stung Lynette's nose. A handmaiden ushered Lynette into an adjoining chamber. Upon entering, Lynette saw Margery on top of a plinth in front of a mirror. A seamstress was scuttling about her legs as she turned and twisted, pinning things here and there.

What caught Lynette's attention, however, was the black leather pants that Margery's shapely legs were clad in.

"Aren't they wonderful?" she asked with a lopsided smile.

Lynette's mouth snapped shut, for she looked like a fish out of water, and she smiled in return. They were wonderful. Lynette had always wanted a pair of tailored breeches, but her mother would have had a right bird if Lynette ever suggested it. She had to make do with the ones that her brothers outgrew.

"Yes, they are. Tell me your seamstress has time to make me a pair as well?"

The seamstress, who was called Layna, did have time. When she finished measuring Lynette, she bowed her head and left the young women. The hunt could not come soon enough. They had selected horses, Lynette selecting Rheagar and Margery settling for a quieter grey mare.

Lynette couldn't wait to leave the Keep.

On her way back to the Tower, she stopped at Tyrion's door. She hadn't spoken to him since her wedding and she felt guilty for it. He was in his chambers and let her in on the second knock.

"Lord Tyrion, how do you fare?"

He was drinking and had books splayed open on his desk. He was almost invisible behind the mountain of books, and she was sure she would have missed him if she didn't see his mop of golden curls behind them.

"Lynette! Finally! I thought he murdered you!"

They shared a few laughs, like friends would. It was a pleasant visit, short but sweet, with Tyrion promising to look out for her sister at court. He was a good man. Her sister should have married him, regardless of Tywin's arrangement with Lynette. Tyrion would have made a better husband than most ladies could wish for.

Tywin wasn't in their rooms when she returned. Lynette called for a bath and relaxed back into the water. She dressed in a pale nightgown, a bluish color she couldn't name, and set the table. The servants came to set the food down and left gratefully after Lynette dismissed them for the night.

He didn't come to dinner, which was strange considering he made an effort for them to eat together in the evenings.

It was close to midnight when Lynette gave up on waiting and left to find her husband. She walked up he steps to his solar, barefoot, with a robe over her shoulders and a plate of food in her hand. She couldn't sleep properly without him near her. The cold in her bones made her ache.

The guards that sneered at her a moon past when she came to see him, now bowed to her.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

 _Perhaps it was._

Tywin Lannister looked majestic behind his desk, too. He was handsome. But the mere knowledge that he didn't need beauty to make a statement and to leave a lasting impression, was more impressive than his physical prowess.

She needed some sort of physical prowess anyway, because she was bubbling on the inside and everything that touched her both soothed and excited her skin. He didn't look up. He knew it was her. His guards would have announced others, and it was late. The Lion of Lannister was sure that nobody else would be brave enough to come to him so late.

"Hello, Lord Lannister."

He heard, but didn't say anything. There was so much to do before they left on the hunt and didn't have time for such trivial things. He grumbled in acknowledgement of her presence, because she would probably fling the scrolls he was so meticulously writing into the fire if he didn't.

The Lion was uncomfortable. He was strained and sleep-depraved thanks to Lynette waking at dawn, no matter how late she got to bed. Tywin didn't sleep in, but there were times where he wanted nothing more than to lay his head on her chest and sleep for a day.

Thoughts of her chest didn't help, either. He was hungry, but couldn't spare the minutes to eat. And he wanted her, but couldn't summon the energy to force her into his bed.

Lynette stoked the fire, draped the robe over a Small Council chair and floated over to his side. She leant down and gently touched his right wrist, her little fingers stroking skin. The cold of her hands stilled the movement of his quill. He wanted to snap at her, he really did. His mind was too tired and he needed to relax. Joffrey was beginning to tax his nerves with his talk of the _Targaryen Threat_. The stupid fool created such a mess that Tywin had to dig the realm out of almost daily.

"Why don't you eat something and I'll write, my lord?"

Gentle suggestions, from a voice filled with tentative persuasion. She was teetering on uncharted territory. One misstep and she would plunge into blackness. It needed to be done. He was going to damage is health if he didn't rest.

Tywin glared at her but Lynette glared right back at him. He was only too happy to let her pry the eagle feather quill out of his hand.

She gave him the platter of food. She read the letter from top to bottom, her lip in her teeth. Tywin hoped that she didn't notice the way his jaw clenched. Lynette perched herself on the armrest of his chair and waited for him to speak. He ate and dictated the rest of his message to her between bites of lamb in a smooth baritone.

When the letter was finished, a plea for the Dornish Prince to grace his majesty, King Joffrey, with his presence at the Royal Wedding, Lynette melted some red wax on the edges and stamped it with the King's seal.

He had the royal seal.

Lynette smiled at the irony of it all. Joffrey should just let his grandfather have the crown. It was much easier than pretending to give a fuck about the Kingdoms anyway. Tywin ruled. Joffrey tortured puppies, beat whores and killed innocents for fun while Tywin ruled.

She set the plate on the desk when he finished eating. The letter found its way into a basket which had to be sent out in the morning. The plate was empty. He must have been hungry…

"Pity there weren't any apples."

Blush painted her cheeks. _Apples._ Did that mean… what she thought it meant? Lynette risked a glance his way, to find he was blatantly staring at her, burning holes into her skull. He wasn't smiling, just looking at her with such a heated intensity that fear intermingled with the excitement in her belly. His right arm wrapped around her hips and pulled her to straddle him.

Before she could protest, he was kissing her. Lynette smiled through his kiss and let her tongue find his. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands found their place in the curve of her waist. His lips were so warm. They wrapped around her own, dragging her down into an unknown inferno with every tug. Her mind slowed down and Lynette sighed happily as his hands slipped to her behind.

It was rough and hot, no teasing. His kiss was direct and to the point, no room for argument. Lynette knew she was ready enough to take him right then. Tywin growled into her mouth and bit her bottom lip as he pulled away from her.

The lion's eyes were black and _raw_. Lynette supposed that it was her reprieve, her chance to pull away. She didn't want to. Her head told her to take this to a more appropriate setting, but she had been lusting for days. The empty feeling enveloped her again and Lynette's hands desperately tugged at his clothes, desperate for his skin to warm her fingers.

His wolf was breathless when she looked at him. There was a whisper of a smirk on her face but her eyes were all he needed to assure him she was willing. The grey had turned dark and her pupils were blown. Lust was written plainly in her gaze. He kissed her again, harder than before, dragged his hands into her hair and pulled at the dark locks. There was an insistent need in him to make her submit.

Tywin stilled her hands, leant forward, and swiped his desk clear of clatter to make a space for her. Lynette could feel the muscles of his arms tighten and before she knew it, he had deposited her onto his desk. The wood was hard and cold beneath her bottom. Her nightgown was bunched around her legs. Her cheeks were burning, but there was a sparkle in her eyes that enthralled the lion. She seemed to enjoy being manhandled.

He smiled wickedly and slid his hands over her thighs to press them apart roughly. The heat in Tywin's gold-green eyes was mesmerizing and deliciously filthy. When he stood up between her legs and the sharp warmth caressed her core, her mouth fell slack and Lynette was forced to tilt her head up to meet his towering gaze. She didn't feel intimidated, she felt her arousal increase.

The Lion of Lannister, indeed. He pressed his hips to hers, tightened his hands on her legs and couldn't stop the groan that rumbled out of his throat. He relished in the feel of her soft shape and watched with fascination written plainly over his face as she arched herself into him, almost as if she couldn't help herself. She was full of magnificent surprises.

Lips clashed and tongues dueled. Lynette threw his leather doublet onto the chair behind him, undid his belt with feverish need. His hands were just as rough. Her nightgown was pulled off of her trembling body before she could voice her protest. She didn't have time to form a coherent thought, because Tywin's hot mouth closed around one of her nipples and the only thing she could think about was how empty she felt.

Lynette whined and bit her lip. Tywin felt a shock travel through his body. He was mesmerized, dare he think it, by her and the way she was affected and the way she responded to his touch. She was pliant and almost in a state of paralysis and the only thing that woke her was his hands and his mouth. The wolf felt as if she was a puppet and he her puppeteer, pulling at the strings and making her move and dance at his leisure.

When his infernal belt finally clattered to the floor, Lynette dragged his lips away from her breast -slammed her mouth back to his. With a hand to her back, Tywin slowed his kiss to nothing but a whisper of lips and sighed heavily against her. He opened his eyes and returned to looking at her, their silent conversation raging on.

He was asking her if she wanted to continue.

Lynette yanked the ties of his breeches open to free his hard cock. Tywin pulled her legs to wrap around him tightly and entered her sharply. It was a relief for both of them. The emptiness in her was filled, replaced by harsh, fiery desire.

Power, too.

Tywin Lannister was fucking her into oblivion on his desk in the Tower of the Hand, with an unlocked door.

The forbidden glory of it was too much for her. His thrusts were deep and deliberate, but hard enough to make pitiful whimpers escape her mouth. She let him have his way, more than happy to lean back on the hard material and watch his face contort with pleasure. His eyes never left her, a silent support. The rough callouses on his fingers dug into her soft skin and he stopped suddenly. Lynette's head was lolling around on the wood, but her frustration was clear.

The wolf sat up, dragged him inside her to uncharted depths which made him growl. Her hands found his hair and Lynette pressed wet kisses over his neck.

His thrusts were shallow and searching, hands tight on her thighs. He found what he was looking for. When his cock dragged over a spot inside her, Lynette felt her world shatter into nonexistence, _thankfully, finally,_ eyes rolling back into her head, a moan that sounded like his name tumbling from her tongue.

Her teeth sunk into his neck.

The pain only made his pleasure heighten. He was trembling from her kisses, drowning in her scent of jasmine. Lynette didn't know what was happening to her body and she didn't understand what he was doing, but she knew that it felt good and that she never wanted him to stop. Tywin pushed her down onto the desk again, licked his lips and enjoyed the sight of her sprawled before him. Her chest was heaving, her eyes glazed over.

The Lion was relentless.

He was angry and stressed.

This, lust, had become somewhat of an aphrodisiac for both of them. Whenever he was buried inside her, pleasure and the forbidden sensuality of her touch clouding his mind, Tywin found peace. Any lesser man would have been driven mad by just looking at her. Everything he did, every tiny spasm that his hands and mouth pulled from the depths of her being – it was beautiful to see her so lost. Perhaps he found a moments' shelter from the world he had created, his legacy and the demands of the people and the realm by losing himself inside her.

The Wolf of Winterfell and the Lion of Lannister. An odd couple.

Tywin felt the conclusion of their joining approach. Her body couldn't lie to him. Lynette's grey-black eyes flew wide and searched frantically for his own. She shuddered when she felt the soul-shattering feeling of her own end rapidly barreling into her. She was looking for his hands, something to hold on to, anything he could give her.

The warm roughness of his hands left her legs. One took her own trembling hand into a tight embrace and the other slid down her sweaty form to where they were joined. Her hands tightened around his fingers and she felt as if she was going mad when his thumb pressed into her little button. Lynette's free hand gripped his wrist. She clenched around him, dragging both of them into oblivion. He leaned down and kissed her. Tywin didn't want his guards to hear her orgasmic, obscenely beautiful moan.

He wanted them to know she belonged to him, but that… the sweet sound of her finished, sated approval was for his ears only and he never wanted to share it. The crashing euphoria of his own release almost paled in comparison to watching her come undone, but the relaxation that covered him was glorious.

Lynette couldn't move. Her legs were numb and her body felt languid, lethargic. A smile tugged on her lips, swollen from his kisses and her own teeth. She winced when he pulled out.

 _Emptiness_.

Her shyness returned and she scrambled for her nightgown. She relaxed when it was tugged over her head and the scars were hidden from his view. She helped him find his own clothes and swiftly redid his laces. Her face was burning with color, but her smile was genuine.

When they were both dressed, Lynette rested a hand on the side of his throat. His pulse was still racing against her palm.

She leaned up on the tips of her toes and kissed him softly. It was slow, a tender press of lips. A contrast to the kisses they shared earlier. When she pulled away, her eyes were still closed in bliss. Tywin studied his wife's smile. It was a satisfied smile. He welcomed the closeness.

"Apples are a catalyst for all manner of perversions between us, are they not?"

He chuckled, wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back to their chambers.

She was asleep on her feet when Tywin reached his bed. He lay her down and crawled in beside her after he undressed. The Great Lion felt his heart stutter when she curled herself into him. His head cried for Joanna. His heart yearned for Lynette's cool touch and grey eyes.

 _She is an investment, dammit!_

For some reason, Tywin knew it was too late. The terms of his contract were breached. He felt something for her. Respect, yes. And there was warmth, too. Tywin didn't know if it was because he had been alone for so long he could hardly recall the last time he'd felt it.

He forced his mind to come up with a reason for his behavior; losing control like a lovestruck fool, giving in to his base desires. He needed an heir to the North.

The thought made his blood run cold.

Walder Frey. Walder Frey was awaiting orders at the Twins. One look at his wife, slumbering peacefully made Tywin clench his fist and glower up at the canopy. If looks could kill, it would be piles of ash. He separated himself from his wife, redressed and marched out of the room.

 _Matters of state_ needed his attendance.

* * *

 ** _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_**

 _Author's note:_

THANK YOU for supporting this story. I truly hope that the new year will be filled with endless joy! xx

I will post a new chapter by Friday. Please review! You all know how I feel about the lemons...

Have a wonderful 2019!


	18. Chapter 18

The king couldn't sit his mount.

Lynette found it quite funny, an strange, twisted sort of humor that made her want to snort in annoyance. The king, at a ripe age of sixteen, couldn't sit his mount. The dappled stallion beneath him was dancing about the trail, skittering amongst the shrubbery. Every time the horse moved, the idiot dug his heels into the fine stallion's sides. The poor animal had ragged cuts on his flanks. They were bleeding.

And, the king couldn't sit his Throne, either.

Joffrey couldn't rule, he was too wrapped up in the liberties he could enjoy with his position. He couldn't exercise control over anyone other than the people on his court, because they saw firsthand how cruel he could be. They feared him too much to stand up to him.

The hunting party were well underway. They were already approaching denser woods. They tree line around them was slowly thickening.

Lynette sat tall and straight on Rheagar's back – with a saddle this time, because Hagar said that it was 'untoward' for a lady to go 'galivanting with a lot of hotblooded men riding a horse without a saddle, and moving about with yer hips in a twist' – and grimaced every time the grey poor horse dodged across the road. She was wearing her first pair of tailored leather pants and they were truly marvelous.

The hunting party was made up of Tywin Lannister in the lead, Joffrey behind him and two of the surviving members of the Kingsguard flanking their king. Margery followed on her mare, Loras riding behind her with a spear in his hand.

Lynette was behind him, taking in the scenery, letting Rheagar amble along the track gently, and was listening to Rogoff singing behind her, in a language that sounded like High Valerian.

Tywin wasn't impressed with her attire, or her choice of horse. Lynette couldn't care less. She was angry at Tywin for leaving her alone after they made love on his desk. Her pride was hurt. Varys talked about her cousin's marriage to the Frey girl that Robb was promised to.

Walder Frey didn't exactly strike her as they type of man who would just kiss and make up.

She went to his solar again, dressed this time, and a cold air of dismissal about her that she had been working on to use in Cersei's presence. If there was any connection to the dead girl, Lynette still had to find it. She and Varys worked tirelessly to track down the girl's murderer. All were dead ends.

When he didn't receive her at once, Lynette swept inside without announcing herself and marched up to his desk. He was writing on a scroll, turmoil in his eyes. Lynette sat down in front of him.

"I want to write to my family."

He didn't look at her, just murmured, "The king has forbidden it."

A spark of life entered him, and he rummaged through a drawer. He pulled a piece of parchment from it and placed it on the table. Tywin folded his hands and waited for her to read the blasted thing. There were only a few lines of ink.

 _Northern assassin apprehended. Accused of murder. Target: The Wolf of Winterfell._

Lynette's heart shattered. She didn't know if it was the defeated slump of his shoulders or the weariness in his eyes. Maybe she knew, then. She knew and didn't want to believe it. The king was dead set on ruining her family name. Someone was trying to kill her and she didn't know who it was. She didn't know if that was comforting or terrifying. Terrifying because everyone could be a threat. Comforting because anyone could be held accountable.

Would her own brother try to kill her?

Would her own people try to murder her?

Lynette was determined to leave her morbid thoughts at the edge of the woods. She wanted to forget the troubles of her mad world. If Tywin couldn't take away the madness with his touch, then she would find her own ways to rid herself of it, whether it carried his seal of bloody approval or not.

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves became a white noise and the further they travelled, the more restless the King's horse became. The little fool had his crossbow strapped to its back, but looked like he was about to eat dirt. He could shoot rather well. Lynette assumed it was from the amount of practice he had. He had threatened to shoot her sister once.

 _Ashen faced Sansa…_

 _Dead Sansa…_

The thought sickened her.

Margery was calling her. Lynette guided Rheagar to her side.

"Lady Margery."

"Oh, Lynette, enough with the titles. We will soon be… well, you will be my grandmother-in-law, won't you?"

Lynette forced herself to laugh. Margery couldn't tell it was fake. She shifted her seat in the saddle, still growing accustomed to the feeling of it, before she replied, "It would seem so, Margery. Are the plans for the wedding almost complete?" 

The Reach girl's brow furrowed a moment, before her face was once again pristine, "Are you not helping Lord Tywin with the preparations?"

Lynette was only listening with a single ear, the other focused on a rustling from behind her. She smiled at Margery, focused behind the woman's face on another scuffling sound, before she absentmindedly said, "I am sure he's more than capable."

She turned her head, just in time to see a squirrel dash across Joffrey's horse. It reared and the golden-haired king tumbled to the ground. Lynette wished he broke his neck. She inwardly cursed when she heard his guards dismount to help him. Lynette leapt from Rheagar's back and strode over to the spooked animal.

"I'll kill the fucking thing!"

Joffrey was looking for his crossbow, which fortunately was on the horse's saddle. He was dirty, with leaves in his hair and a mad look in his eye, like a rabid dog.

"Your Grace, perhaps it would be wise to take another mount. Lady Margery, would you give your horse to the king? It's looks rather calm."

It was Tywin that spoke. _Ever the voice of bloody reason._ Lynette didn't miss the underlying insult and smirked under her breath.

She approached the stallion and left her husband to dissolve the king's tantrum. The grey steed had intelligent eyes, and even when he was frightened, created a stunning visage. Lynette held out her hand and let his smell her hands. A sad look entered her eyes.

" _Papa, don't! He's so big!"_

 _Her father's hands were soft around her small six-year-old body. He had taken her to the stables and given her a name day gift. A pony. He was a stocky little thing, not very pretty to behold but hers. Papa called him Reginald._

" _Don't raise yeh voice, little wolf. He can sense yer fear. Hold out yer hand."_

 _She did and let the horse sniff at her shaking fingers. Eddard Stark smiled when his little daughter giggled and thanked him with a wet kiss to his cheek. Reginald was nowhere near as big as Papa's horse, but she was small and everything taller than her father's leg – which she was constantly stuck to – was huge to her._

 _Even her father, with his stern voice and smiling eyes couldn't get her off Reginald. Her mother couldn't keep them apart. Even when Reginald was too old to carry her, she would still bring him carrots and let him but his head against her hands._

The grey was still skittish, but let Lynette calm him. Tywin had dismounted from his horse and was steering Joffrey in the direction of the mare. His teeth were gritted and he was irritated. He didn't want to leave the Keep and the _beloved_ _monarch_ had to command him to do so. Tywin Lannister didn't want to leave his solar, because there were affairs of state that needed his attention.

Rheagar stood patiently beside Rogoff, watching as Lynette led the stallion back to the party. Margery was eyeing the bay nervously, but mounted with the help of her brother. Loras proved better company than Lynette expected.

Joffrey was angry, almost howling when he said, "I want my own saddle, with my bow! That horse is mad, Hand! A gift from a grandfather should be worthy of a king not dead set on breaking his neck!"

Tywin had given the horse to Joffrey. Lynette wanted to scoff but kept herself in check. The animal's sides were still bleeding. The king wouldn't stop the hunt because of it, though and was adamant that they continue, despite his fall.

"Let your bitch ride him, Hand! Gods know she'll need the practice next time I see her!"

Lynette stiffened and wanted to lunge at him, but Tywin was by her side, calling her guards. Rogoff and Carle were by her side in moments.

Tywin was angry. She could see his muscles strained under his tunic. With a cool hand on his sleeve, her little fingers brushing hot skin, she pulled the saddle off the horse and gave it to Rogoff. He relaxed some and held the horse's bridle. Lynette smiled softly at him, shyly hiding her face when his direct eyes locked onto her, filled with heat. She turned back to the guard.

"Carle, get me some water and a cloth."

"Yes, my lady."

Lynette cleaned the horse's sides and wiped the blood away. He was calmer and standing quite peacefully now that Joffrey was far from him. Margery looked petrified on Rheagar, but she obviously knew better than to complain to the king.

She saddled the grey with ease. He was taller than Rheagar, so Lynette asked Rogoff for a leg up. He heaved her up onto the horse. The animal started when she sat down on his back, no doubt shocked by the weight. Lynette petted him and cooed gentle words into his ears until he was quieter.

He shook his head before mounting his own white horse and falling back into the trail. Lynette rode beside him. Tywin was distant and had a faraway look in his green-gold eyes. He didn't like the way the men were staring at her behind and the way her hips moved on the animal's back and he certainly didn't like the thought of Joffrey having her. His knuckles were white from their grip on his horse's reins.

What type of king, one who claimed to be formidable with a sword and had apparently killed multiple enemies at the Blackwater, would give a well-trained warhorse to a woman simply because he couldn't stay on? What type of king would cut out a man's tongue for singing a song he didn't like that day?

What type of king gave his seal away?

A cowardly, mad fool. With too much power and too little brains.

"Will you kill a stag as well, Lord Lannister?"

She was as relaxed as he had ever seen her, one hand on the reins, one on the animal's neck. Her hair was wild and her eyes were alive with life. A welcoming reprieve from his morbid thoughts. Tywin knew what she was doing. Mindless comments. It soothed _normal_ people. If only she knew what he was plotting at the Twins… she wouldn't want to comfort him then. She would probably want to tackle him off of his horse and bash his head in with a rock.

His wife was a wild thing.

As hard as he tried to intimidate her with his power, his mind and his physical strength, he concluded: A wolf cannot be tamed. Only gentled.

"I don't think so, Lady Lynette."

The woods were getting thinner. Lynette supposed they would get to a valley soon, before the land got uneven and the forest started to really get dense. Margery and Joffrey were talking about their wedding, Loras was on the lookout for murderous Wildmen. Lynette wanted to get away from them and gently squeezed her legs around the big horse's sides. He picked up a gentle trot, to which Tywin's horse snorted in indignation.

The Lion followed her, until they reached the plane. Lynette slowed her horse and looked over her shoulder. Loras had taken the lead and Rogoff was still at the back of the party.

"Do you think the world will disappear if we gallop fast enough?"

Tywin stopped and looked at her. Impassive and cold. A mask, as she had come to see. He reached for her when she turned the stallion – whose name she still didn't know – and faced him again. She gave him her hand. They stood there for a moment, until the party neared them and he let her go. The grey she rode was relaxed. Her and Tywin's legs were brushing. Lynette bit her lip and looked at him with a silent, lustful promise of later _perversions_ in her eyes.

"Don't fall."

With a sly look, he was off. The white stallion made tracks and galloped away. Tywin fucking Lannister, cheating at a contest.

Bloody idiot.

Lynette turned Joffrey's stallion and urged him forward. He obliged and bolted after Ash. Lynette kept low, her legs tightly gripping the beast as he surged across the planes. She laughed as he ran. It was truly magical.

When the hunting party stopped, the king ordered his Kingsguard to make camp. When Lynette and Tywin, now neck and neck, came to a stop, she was shaken by her discovery.

The world didn't disappear.

The weight of its many disappointments and pains, came crashing back into her like a tidal wave.

Tywin avoided her as much he could. He was falling for her. It was a strange sensation. He hated every single second of it, and wished he had made Tyrion marry her. For years after his wife died, he had remained celibate. The guilt that ate at his soul was too much for him. The Lion couldn't even look at other suitors. He refused to remarry even though he knew it would have been wiser for him to do so.

Tywin remembered once, when he returned from some or other fight and he was hot-blooded and angry. He almost fucked his chambermaid. Almost. The feeling of disgust overcame his lust.

Now, he was married to a Northern heir, daughter of a man his grandson executed and his daughter tried to torment. Cersei couldn't break her like she did the younger Stark girl. He was married, and was starting to fall for the wild spirit that he was unable to tame. There was a comforting relief in her cool touch, some sort of familiarity and a breathless newness.

The feeling scared him.

The pain was all he had left of his darling Joanna. Pain of losing her, pain of seeing his children fail at the most mundane of tasks – thinking. Tyrion had a sharp mind but taunted his with his stature. Jaime was a glorified bodyguard of an unworthy monarch and Cersei was the mother of madness.

Her eyes, her touch – they were erasing that pain.

The Great Lion of Lannister was falling for her. Her grey eyes and her sharp tongue, her mind and the way she refused to obey. He felt like a traitor. Logic suggested he relinquish these thoughts of guilt and unnecessary worrying. Logic suggested he allow himself to feel.

His pride refused.

Joffrey felled his stag and the party returned to King's Landing. Lynette rode the stallion the entire way, scowling at the king's back as they went.

She was an enigma.

And he, Tywin Lannister, the man who carried the realm on his shoulders, was going to kill her family.


	19. Chapter 19

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 19: FIRE AND FURY

Lynette was pacing.

The floors of the library in the Red Keep were marked with her footsteps, up the one isle and down the next. She didn't know how long she had been walking, but she needed to do something other than think.

Her mind was in turmoil and her heart was palpitating in her chest. She felt her skin crawl with every turn he made and was thankful that the library seemed to be never ending. She wondered if she could get lost and never be found again, so that she could escape the Keep and the people in it.

A childlike notion.

Even if she would leave the Keep, even if she were to run away, Lynette knew that she would never be able to forget it and its people. There was something about King's Landing. It clawed its way into your soul and crushed everything in its path.

She would never be able to forget Joffrey and his cruelty, nor Cersei and her cold rage. She would never forget Tyrion and his wit, Shae with her pattering feet and she would never be able to forget Tywin.

The cold feeling in her bones had grown stronger the last few days. Old Nan used to tell them stories about Northerners freezing to death because of the darkness on the other side of the Wall. Was that what was happening to her?

Varys was still displeased with her. It seemed freezing the dead woman's body was an order that weighed heavily on his mind. It was understandable, she surmised. If anyone caught them, they would be hung like traitors.

Joffrey was still angry about his stag hunt.

He'd cut off a fiddler's thumbs the previous day.

There seemed no end to his cruelty.

Matters concerning her brother Robb's war weighed heavily on Lynette's heart. She was worried about her brother and his men. He had disregarded his promise to marry one of Walder Frey's daughter and had instead married a girl from the Westerlands.

Lands of which Tywin Lannister, her _husband,_ was conveniently the liege lord.

Much later, she was lying in a warm bath, with her hair bound on the top of her head, as messy and wild as always and a book in her hands.

A vendor at the market had recommended a soothing salt tonic. Lynette purchased it (with one too many pieces of Lannister gold) for her and her sister Sansa. She figured after the events at court, her sister could use something to calm her nerves.

* * *

 _Sansa accompanied her to court, per her own request. She dressed in finery and carried herself with grace as she always did. Joffrey called them to court for a 'daily reminder of his idiotic sadism' as Lynette so eloquently called it._

 _There was a trader from the Harbor, who tried to introduce and new scheme of profit. He wanted to courier letters of the Crown under heavy safeguarding to and from the Iron Bank. It seemed a good plan, but Lynette couldn't understand where his ideas came from. The Crown had its own way of seeing to letters and important messages. Why would it trust a trader?_

 _Joffrey dismissed the idea almost immediately._

 _When the poor man pressed further, the remaining members of his Kingsguard advanced threateningly. Joffrey saw opinion as treason and saw the man's explanations of the potential advantages of his scheme as subversion._

 _His head was cut off._

 _Joffrey grinned churlishly down at his Court of Fools as the man's blood flowed over the floor. Sansa's eyes were glazed over, and her cheeks were pulled taut, deathly and still._

 _Ashen faced Sansa…_

 _Dead Sansa…_

 _She shocked both Lynette and the court when she spoke, her voice quiet and calm, descending over them all like a dove, "Why?"_

 _Joffrey's eyes almost bulged out of his skull._

" _You dare question my authority, wolf whore?!"_

 _Sansa didn't flinch, her eyes cold, "Forgive me, your grace… I merely meant that the man's family would have -"_

 _Joffrey sneered, a horrible sight, and all but spat, "I should discipline you, Sansa. I should show you the king's authority!"_

 _The Kingsguard advanced on them. They kept coming, one with his sword out._

 _Lynette's heart was in her throat, thud-thud-thud. Lynette grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her behind her. If she were to die like this, at the hands of the Goldcloaks, while defending her sister, she would have a smile on her corpse._

 _Her wolf growled, scratching at the cage of her mind, raging to get out. She had to protect her pack, she had no choice. Her sister's pale hand was shaking in her own and Sansa looked faint. Sansa had endured so much…_

 _Lynette squared her shoulders, raised her cold eyes and speared Joffrey to his throne with a glare, "Whoever in debate quotes authority, uses not intellect, but memory."_

 _Joffrey leapt to his feet, rage burning in his Lannister eyes, "I'll have your tongue, bitch!"_

 _Like a swarm of angered locusts, however, Lannister guards stormed forward and around them, creating a shield between Lynette and Sansa, and the angry king and his guards. Distress washed over her. The scuffling of boots and the chinking of mail clanked around them. Lynette gripped Sansa's hand tighter. Her sister squeezed her fingers back. Somewhere in the background, she heard a door open._

 _A terse silence surrounded them suddenly._

 _Lynette's eyes were still locked with Joffrey's. She simply refused to look away._

" _Your grace," his,_ _ **his**_ _, voice rang out behind them, "what is the meaning of this?"_

 _They all looked at him, as the crown parted to let him through. His guards were yet to stand at ease. Joffrey's eyes were green pits of fire._

" _Your bitch! She'd dare lecture me, Hand! If this is your idea of loyalty to my crown, I-"_

 _Tywin stopped Joffrey's incessant prattling with a look. Lynette knew it well. He would not raise his chin, just his eyes, making him look twice as fierce as normal. He advanced slowly, like a predator stalking his prey, totally unbothered by the fact that he had just silenced the King of Westeros with a downgrading glare._

" _And what was my wife's council, your grace?"_

 _Joffrey had not used his pieces well. A battle of wills with Tywin was not easily won. Lynette knew that from experience._

 _It looked as if Joffrey was losing._

 _He opened and closed his mouth, gaping at his grandfather, the man who should have coddled him and silently guided him to the right direction with a gentle hand. Tywin Lannister wasn't gentle when it came to matters of state. He was ruthless._

" _She said that whoever needs force authority is not using their intellect, Hand! Not only did she insult my wit, she protected her sister from a just punishment. Sansa has no right to question my decision!"_

 _Tywin's eyes were hard as flint._

 _Lynette met them, outwardly unflinchingly, inwardly terrified of his wrath. She was treading dangerous ground. She needed him on her side if she was going to protect her sister from Joffrey. That was why she married him!_

 _If all this, all the emotional turmoil their marriage had caused her, all the heart wrenching guilt that ate away at her as she lay in his arms, was for nothing… Lynette wasn't sure if she would be able to survive such disappointment._

 _Thankfully, his harsh gaze lifted and turned away from her. Tywin turned around, turned his back on the king, and with a wave of his hand, the Lannister guards disappeared. Rogoff suddenly appeared at Lynette's side and took Sansa's arm._

 _Tywin turned back to the King, heat seeping into Lynette's side through the thick material of her dress where his hand rested._

 _His mouth was drawn in a hard line, "Apologies, your grace. I will see to Lady Lynette."_

 _With that, Tywin gave her his arm, and they walked out of the Throne Room without so much as a glance back to the king._

 _She knew he was disappointed in her. There was an air about him, as if he had somehow expected her to be more thoughtful, more calculating, more thorough._

 _They arrived at his solar. She went inside without a word and stood by the rich fireplace, eager to be warm again, after he had left her side and taken his intoxicating heat with him._

 _She didn't speak._

" _What did your sister do?"_

 _Lynette looked up at him quickly, eyes flashing, "He decapitated a trader for having an opinion. She merely asked why."_

 _Tywin was unreadable, face devoid of any emotion, "She should learn her place."_

 _Her wolf spluttered in rage, growling like a savage beast, "Her place? Her place?! And where, pray tell, mighty Lord Lannister is my sister's place?!"_

 _He didn't speak, just looked at her with blank eyes. Lynette's hands were fisted next to her sides, "Is her place beneath that of a madman? Is her place at the feet of an executioner? Is she to be subjugated to abuse simply for the amusement of a tyrant?!"_

 _Tywin took a step closer to her, and in her state of fury, Lynette didn't flinch away from his commanding presence._

" _Wherever her thoughtless words do not endanger you!"_

 _Lynette scoffed. Endanger her? Endanger her?!_

" _You, Lord Lannister," she sneered, "are more worried for your precious investment! You are terrified of losing a chance of establishing your godforsaken legacy of Lions! Or, you are simply terrified of losing something that belongs to you to Joffrey, because of your damnable pride and the image you wish to uphold!"_

 _Tywin didn't move a single muscle. He just looked at her, with surprise and fury burning in his eyes. He didn't say anything to deny her claims. In that moment, his silence spoke louder than any words he'd ever uttered._

 _It was then that fear began to settle in her stomach._

 _She had never seen him like this. His face was impassive and clouded with rage. His eyes were dark and looked almost murderous, and his hands were balled into fists, back straight, weight evenly distributed on his feet. His muscles were coiled, ready._

 _A fighter's stance._

 _Lynette swallowed and shut her mouth. She lowered her eyes to the ground and daren't look up. Her heart was pounding now, thudthudthud._

 _He took a step closer._

 _And another._

 _She felt his presence at her front, so close to her. Lynette stilled herself, tense and waiting for a blow to fall on her. She made herself hollow, ran away to the deepest parts of her mind that she never told anyone about, the parts of her that only her family had glimpsed, where she was happy._

 _She kept her eyes on Tywin's immaculately polished boots._

 _The room was silent as a grave. She heard him breathe. She started shaking. Lynette shuddered where she stood, ready to flee at the slightest of movements._

" _Lynette."_

 _His voice was gravelly and soft when it made itself heard. She calmed herself down to a certain extent and took deep breaths until she could look him in the eye without flinching. There was a strange light in his green-gold eyes._

" _You will conduct yourself according to your status."_

 _Lynette only nodded._

" _I will not allow you to seek unnecessary reasons to invoke the king's rage. You will address him with the respect he believes he is warranted, and you will never," Tywin lunged forward and tugged her chin up, to meet her frightened eyes, "never ever allow him to degrade my name again, do you understand?"_

 _With that, he stepped away from her, and watched with a mixture of relief and annoyance as she crawled her way out of her hollow shell. He wordlessly poured her a glass of rich wine and set it in her hands and stalked out of the room._

 _Lynette gulped it down. Her heart was still racing._

 _She lost this battle._

 _Tywin emerged the victor because she was too nervous to stand up for herself. His presence, his name of Lannister, of Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, it scared her._

 _If only she was just Lynette._

 _And he, if only he was only Tywin._

* * *

The water was warm and soothing.

Lynette sighed dramatically and sank deeper into the water. It caressed her shoulders and lapped playfully at her legs. The glass of wine she'd drank earlier had turned to two, and two had turned into four, and soon after that, she was lulled into a blissful tipsy stupor.

It probably wasn't a wise idea, getting drunk when there was a good chance that Tywin would have her murdered now that she had publicly insulted the king under his name, her doppelgänger lay dead in ice in Varys' quarters and her sister was once again in the king's line of fire.

In truth, Lynette was tired.

In soul and mind, not necessarily in body.

She was so tired of the pretense and lies and deceit of the Capitol. She knew she had to pick up her head and shoulder the burden she bore, but she was just so tired.

Sansa was her beacon of hope and light. Her sister was everything that Lynette knew she would never be. She was pure and had a gentle heart. Lynette could feel herself changing, become cold and cruel to match the people of King's Landing.

She was no longer the innocent girl that her beloved father doted upon.

She was no longer his little wolf.

When the water of her tub was cold, and she was tired of reading the same page of her book for the fourth time, Lynette set her book aside and clambered out of the tub and dried off. She wrapped the towel around herself and crept into Tywin's bed.

Being drunk and naked was not a good combination, but the bed was empty, and Tywin was nowhere to be seen. The covers were silky soft against her skin. She fell asleep soon after and dreamed of golden lions and red men dancing on rotting corpses.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Thank you for reading this far! The chapter is a little earlier than usual, but I wanted to thank everyone for their positive response to the previous chapter.

As for the Red Wedding, don't judge her too harshly. Shock like that makes you do strange things.

xx


	20. Chapter 20

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 20: RED MEN DANCING ON CORPSES

 _She was ten._

 _The Castle at Winterfell was abuzz with excitement._

 _It was the Feast of the Harvest, which had been plentiful and blessed that year. Lady Catelyn was in the Great Hall, a commanding figure in front of Lord Eddard's chair, guiding her servants with a firm hand. Lynette and Sansa were also roped into the workforce, along with Jeyne Poole and some of the other young girls from Sansa's sewing lessons._

 _They were all given individual tasks. Sansa and Jeyne helped with the decorations, and Lynette was placing candles on the tables, precariously balancing a tray of them on her hip._

 _It felt nice, to work for the people of Winterfell, the farmers and the stable lads and the guards, knowing that they worked for each and every one of the Stark family members. It felt nice to give something back to them._

 _On the day of the feast, Lynette was in a spin._

 _The previous day, she and Robb had a bit of a fight. 'Bit of a fight' being the words her beloved brother had used to describe the event to their mother, when she stood at the Castle gates waiting for them with red fury in her eyes that matched her beautiful hair._

" _Lynette Stark. Do not tell me that you are wearing your new dress!"_

 _Lynette was wearing it._

 _And it was covered in the mud she, Theon and Robb had hurled at each other not moments ago._

 _Lynette felt terrible. She really did. She loved the dress, because her mother had designed it for her, especially so that she could ride and run in it without looking like a boy. This was her mother's compromise after Lynette was refused tailored trousers._

 _It wasn't ruined. It was just dirty and would likely not dry before the feast._

 _Lynette was sent to bathe and wash her dress. She cleaned and hung the dress first before she clambered into the tub._

 _There was a knock on the door, combined with her mother's soft voice, "Linnie, may I come in?"_

 _Lynette called out a "yes" before dunking her head under the water._

 _Her mother knelt by the tub and started rubbing oil into Lynette's dark hair. Her touch was gentle, as only a mother's touch could be._

" _I'm sorry, Mother. About the dress. Really. I do love it! I am sorry for getting it dirty."_

 _Catelyn chuckled. She placed a hand on Lynette's forehead and started rinsing her hair from bubbles and oil._

" _Robb told me what happened."_

 _Lynette looked back into her mother's eyes quickly, hissing when soap went into her eye. She scrubbed it out and blinked a few times to get rid of the sting. This time when she turned around, she did it much slower._

" _What did he say?"_

" _That he and Theon may or may not have thrown a pail of water over your head in the stable."_

 _Lynette grinned crookedly, "I got them back, though. Theon especially."_

 _Catelyn sighed and helped her daughter out of the tub. She wrapped Lynette in a towel and helped her change into nightclothes. She brushed her hair and tucked her into bed like she used to when Lynette was her only child._

 _Catelyn pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Oh, what am I to do with you?"_

 _She ended up wearing one of her older gowns, a light grey one with direwolves on the collar. Robb and Theon sniggered at her when she sat down next to them. She sneered back at them. They ruined her dress!_

 _Everyone ate and drank and made merry, and even Lynette and her siblings were allowed to stay a little later than their usual bedtime._

 _When it came time for dancing, Lynette scurried to her father and grabbed his hand._

 _It was rough and dwarfed her own._

 _She smiled toothily up at him, "Will you dance with me, Papa?"_

 _Eddard Stark chuckled and obliged her. Even though her hands were only big enough to wrap around his forefinger, he was wrapped around her little finger._

 _She clumsily stepped on his toes, but giggled merrily all the way, so Ned ignored it. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were alight with childlike joy. She was so young… so innocent._

 _When the lively tune ended, Eddard steered her back to where Catelyn waited for them._

 _She watched as her parents wove their way into the crowd and swayed to a gentle rhythm. And there, in her youth, she swore to never marry a man who didn't look at her the way her father looked at her mother, with nothing but warmth and reverence in his eyes._

* * *

Lynette was shivering.

Cold.

 _Cold!_

 _C-c-cold!_

Lynette's back was on fire. It was the strange feeling one got when stepping into warm water with frozen toes.

Her chest was blisteringly cold, just under her left breast.

Her heart!

Her heart was freezing cold, iced over with a peculiar longing and a painful sadness.

She should have known then.

She _should_ have.

Lynette's eyes snapped open, and she moved to get out of bed. She wanted to stoke the fire, put on another robe, or get another fur for the bed, _anything_ to stop the frosty stillness spreading from her chest.

Arms prevented her from moving.

She looked down.

Arms. Around her bare waist!

In a flash of blind panic, Lynette screamed shrilly. She squirmed and kicked, until Tywin obviously woke up and let her go. She scrambled up to her feet, pressing at her chest, trying to shove warmth into her body.

She must have looked a fright.

Naked, shivering like an earthquake was underneath her feet with confusion clouding her wintry eyes.

Tywin looked up at her blearily for a moment before he woke up completely.

"What are you doing?"

She didn't answer him and rushed to his closet. She ripped a cloak from its confines and wrapped herself up in it. Next, she scuttled to the fire and stood so close to it her skin started glowing.

"Lynette!"

His concern fell on deaf ears.

Soon she was crying in desperation. It wouldn't go away! The cold was eating at her from the inside out.

Tywin was confused, worried and feeling guilty in the depths of his subconscious. He was at a loss for words a moment. He was woken by a scream, then shocked to awareness by a sudden pain spreading up his shin.

She was in a state.

Her heart was pounding – _**pounding**_ – in her chest. Her breath was short, and she clawed at her throat, trying to let in air. Her blood _slushed_ and _gushed_ in her ears.

And she shook.

Gods, she was trembling like a leaf in the cold wind of winter.

He roared again, "Lynette!"

Lynette was overwhelmed by the sense of icy dread. Cold stillness. Death. It ate at her nerves, sung through her veins and laced its way into every one of her coherent thoughts. Something was wrong.

 _Something was wrong._

Tywin appeared in front of her. Lynette stood there shaking as he wrapped her up in his arms so tightly, she could scarce breathe.

 _Warmth._

The panic, sheer blind _wrongness_ intensified before calming, slowly but surely until her breathing evened out and matched his own. _Warmth._ Tywin was humming something, some song she couldn't name, but felt she had heard before.

She gripped his skin, nails cutting into him, trying to find purchase; ground herself to something.

His skin warmed her own.

The icy fear faded to a crisp feeling in her heart.

She spoke before he could get a word in, "Something's wrong."

The Lion felt sick. _She knew._

"Som- something's wrong! I'm so… so cold."

He knew that she _knew_ , then. Maybe she knew and didn't want to understand or accept it, but she knew. Perhaps her Northern bones had sensed his plot. Perhaps she felt her family's death. Perhaps her soul was icing itself over to spare her from the harrowing pain he knew would follow when Walder Frey's raven delivered its news.

 _She knew…_

"I have to go to Sansa."

Rebarbative, ghastly relief settled on his mind, "You are not well."

Perhaps, she didn't yet know.

She regarded him with a blank look. Lynette released her hold on him, casting a wry look to the crescent shaped depressions her nails had made in his skin. Her teeth caught her lip a moment. Then she said again, "I have to go to Sansa.

Sighing, and knowing he would get nowhere with her, Tywin all but growled, "I'll go with you."

He helped her pull a nightgown over her shoulders, only to keep his hands busy.

She anxiously waited for him to put on his clothes and ran down the steps of the Tower to her sister's rooms. The Lannister guard had the wisdom not to ask her reasons and opened the door to her sister's chambers. She searched for a candle, blind in the darkness. She found a lantern, cut her fingers when she desperately tried to light it.

A small flame coughed to life.

Tywin stayed by the door.

"Sansa! Sansa, wake up!"

Her sister didn't budge and for a moment, Lynette felt cold seep into her bones again. She shook her sister's shoulders, fear gripping her throat in a vice.

Sansa's blue eyes blinked up at her.

"Linnie? Wha- What's goi-?"

Lynette sobbed in relief.

She grabbed Sansa and hugged her tightly. _She's not hurt..._ Lynette ran her fingers through her beautiful hair and pressed kisses to her sister's pate.

"I'm sorry Sansa, I just had this horrible feeling… I was so, so _cold_. I thought something horrible happened to you…"

Sansa only needed a few moments after waking to transition from unconscious dreamer to lady, and by the time Lynette was weeping into her hair, she was fully awake and gripping onto Lynette just as tightly.

When Lynette calmed down, she pulled away. Her sister looked up at her, blue eyes full of unanswered questions.

"I'm fine Linnie, see? I'm alright."

Lynette apologized and left her sister to sleep.

Tywin was waiting by the door, watching her. The guard turned and faced the opposite direction when she appeared. She was still in her nightgown.

The gold in his eyes beckoned to her through the darkness.

He took her hand in his elbow and walked her back to their chambers in silence.

When the door was finally shut behind them, he finally spoke, "What happened, my lady?"

She raised a hand to her mouth before she answered, "I woke up with this… ice in my chest, like my heart was freezing. I felt such dread… I knew- I know something bad is going to happen."

Tywin regarded her with a twisted sympathy in his eyes. He had ordered it. He did. It had to be done. Robb would have died anyway. Wars claimed lives. Yes, he told himself, it was inevitable.

He just wished he wouldn't have had to hurt her in the process.

* * *

She heard of the news that afternoon.

Lynette came to a council meeting, after Cersei requested her presence. She was late but made no effort to hurry. She had no real reason to be there. Cersei wanted to observe her and Tywin together to find a kink in her armour to thrust a knife into when the time came. After her trying morning, Tywin had a servant bring her something from Maester Pycell to help her calm down. It was an herbal tea of some sort that tasted foul and smelled worse but soothed her nerves.

She entered just as the dwarf Tyrion stooped to pick up a scroll. Tywin met her eyes over the scroll he was obviously pretending to read. It appeared no one else noticed her presence.

The cold frost of earlier barrelled into her again.

Tyrion's scroll crinkled open and then he began to read, "Roslyn caught a fine fat Trout…"

 _No..._ She remembered the tenderness of Tywin's touch.

Again, Tyrion spoke, "Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding…"

 _NO!_ She remembered the warmth of his hands and the smile that danced in his eyes. _No no no no!_ Her eyes begged Tywin, pleaded with him, sobbed for reprieve, for ignorance, for anything that resembled mercy.

"Signed, Walder Frey," Tyrion finished.

And then, she remembered who he was. The _Lion_ of Lannister indeed. Merciless. Ruthless. And warm.

The initial shock of what the words meant didn't wear off. Her eyes widened. The icy emptiness of earlier flared back to life. Her feet walked of their own accord to the seat next to him, on his right side, opposite Cersei. She barely realised Tywin pulled the chair out for her. She looked at his hands.

Bile rose in her throat.

Shocked beyond emotion, Lynette folded her hands in her lap. She sat tall as her mother taught her a lady did. She raised her head and blocked out the noise.

Her family was dead. She knew it.

She _knew_ it.

The feeling that overpowered her in the morning made perfect sense now.

 _Signed, Walder Frey._

Lynette choked on air. Walder Frey was a weasel! She knew Robb didn't marry his daughter, but had heard that Edmure, their cousin, was being forcibly volunteered for the position. Surely her mother would have ensured that they have the protection of guest right.

Was the Blackfish, her uncle not there to protect them?

Why did they have to die?

Why did _she_ have to lose more people?

Was her father not a great enough loss?!

Walder Frey was a weasel. And weasels didn't do the work of lions. They needed the proper insurance. She looked up at Tywin. She could feel his warmth curl around her side. She could see the cold look in his eyes. She could read the frustration in his posture.

Vaguely, she heard Joffrey leave. One by one, the members left until only she and Tyrion remained in Tywin's presence.

Lynette tested her shaky legs and stood up, "Excuse me, my lords."

Her voice was empty and dead. She pushed her chair in and took a step in the direction of the door.

Everything barrelled into her. Loss. Grief. Hate. Love. Pain. Fear.

She stumbled.

Lynette's knees made contact with the hard, _cold_ stone floor. Blood stained her dress. Pain burst up her thighs. She ignored it. It was nothing to the frosty emptiness in her heart. It seemed an age. Tywin stood up and came to her side. Lynette could see his black boots and the leather of his trousers. He leant down to help her up.

Her response was instant, cold, "NO!"

His hands, his traitorous hands retreated from her line of sight.

Those hands _held_ her. Those hands _pleasured_ her. Those hands _comforted_ her. They _warmed_ her.

Her heart shuddered violently. Her mother's ghost was cursing her now, kneeling there at the feet of a Lannister.

And then finally she gathered the courage and the will to set her wolf-soul free.

Finally.

Her wolf howled, harshly and pained, before it fought and bit and tore its way out of the cage she'd built around it. Lynette felt strength, a bit of her direwolf soul race through her body and used it to stand to her feet.

She met Tywin Lannister's eyes.

Her eyes looked different, as cold as winter felt. She beheld him calmly. He didn't speak, so she said, "Winter is coming, Lord Lannister. And the North remembers."

She brushed past him without a second glance.

It was there, standing before his youngest son, with the terrible knowledge of what Lynette had just said, and everything she had not said, that Tywin Lannister learned the harrowing pain of being torn between duty and love.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

Please be gentle about this one! I tried, I truly did. I didn't want to handle the Red Wedding like a festering wound. I want it to be red and angry, a driving factor for what's to come in the aftermath.

Please leave your thoughts.

Thank **YOU** for your reviews and all the follows/favourites.

I am not abandoning the story, I promise! I was so busy with school/work and I needed to get that in order before posting another chapter.

xxx Keep reading. Please.


	21. Chapter 21

**The Collared Wolf**

 _By Crippled-Canary_

* * *

CHAPTER 21: FROZEN HEARTS

He didn't see her for the rest of the day.

Tywin was in his Solar, absentmindedly writing a letter of thanks to Mace Tyrell. For once in his long life, his long years of service as Hand, Tywin Lannister didn't care much for the state of his calligraphy nor the rough way he handled the parchment.

His mind was elsewhere, fluttering around wintry eyes and cool touches, lingering on Lynette's face far longer than he thought completely necessary. He didn't need to think too long on her face to recall every little detail of her countenance.

He did not feel guilty for the death of her mother and brother.

It was war, and he ended it. Whatever the cost, whatever the price: he was more than happy to pay it for some small semblance of peace.

He felt no guilt, but felt a thunderous shame weighing on his mind.

Tywin felt nothing for the murdered Starks. He'd kill them twice over by his own hand if it meant that he would have the right to say that he paid his debts.

But Lynette… it was _always_ Lynette.

Her eyes when she spoke, dead and yet aflame with anger and pain; the way her eyes looked at him, _through_ him, with such indifference, and the way she held herself, taller and stronger in her weakness than he had ever seen any other being stand- it worried him, shook him.

Was he worried for the safety of the Crown?

Was he shaken by the wordless promise of retribution in her eyes?

Or, dare he even think it, for thinking it would make it real, that he, Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, was scared of losing Lynette and her cool, soothing comfort?

He drove the thought into the wastelands of his mind, alongside the forgotten memories of his youth, and left it there to rot.

At least, he tried to.

Her eyes did not leave him in peace, and disobeyed his banishment. They danced in front of him, mocking, questioning, and pleading.

They were haunting and dark, with the cold of winter winds, they danced before him, mocking his emotions and tearing at his heart.

Silently and cruelly, they questioned him, twin grey eyes floating in his mind's eye with phantom precision. _'Why, Tywin?'_ they asked.

And they pleaded. Begged. Beseeched. They _begged_ him, 'Please not this. Please not _you_.'

He was powerless to those eyes' condemnation. He could not escape the eyes he had spent hours lost in. He could not run from the deep and burning lick of shame that weighed him down, forced him to stay seated in his chair in his Solar, and not race down the Tower in search of her understanding, if he could not dare hope for her forgiveness.

He had hurt her.

Perhaps deep down, Lynette knew that her family would not be spared this war. Perhaps she knew that the assassin sent to the Capitol to murder her in her bed bore a Northern purse and a Northern dagger.

Perhaps she knew that her brother would die, in battle or at a fat old age.

She didn't know that it would be him, Tywin, to pass the sentence.

On their wedding night, he could see the wordless question in her eyes: _Are you going to hurt me?_ He remembered it, as he held her that night. And again, when he asked her to sleep next to him. She was always expecting pain from those who were near her.

And perhaps; _perhaps_ she had stopped expecting it of him. Perhaps she grew to trust him, that he would not hurt her if anything else.

And he did hurt her.

 _That_ was what her eyes accused him of: hurting her, betraying the fragile trust she placed in him, making her heart _freeze_ because of him.

Tywin slammed a fist down on the wood.

Pain shot up his forearm, but it cleared his head. With a sigh, he picked up his quill again, and resumed his writing.

* * *

It was much later, dark outside, with stars brightly shining in the night when he finally retired.

He did not know what to expect when he reached the door of his – no, their – chambers.

A strange, cold fear gripped him when he reached for the handle of the door. Had she hung herself? Had she thrown herself from the battlements? Was she even there?

Tywin sighed again, and thinking that he sounded like a very old man, swung the door open before the nerve to do so left him.

He certainly hadn't expected what he saw when the oak barrier revealed what it hid.

There were candles everywhere, pieces of parchment scattered on the dining table, like leaves on the forest floor in autumn. In the middle of the room, in front of the fire, was Lynette, with her back to him. She looked like a ship did when it was the only floating piece of craftsmanship left on a raging sea.

She was in front of an easel.

Drawing, it appeared.

He didn't want to move. He didn't want to disturb her.

He could hardly throw off the piercing, pained stare of her eyes. He would not be able to stomach her tears, knowing full well that she knew _he_ was the catalyst that caused them.

Tywin's feet betrayed him, much like his treacherous heart did these days, and carried him forward.

Lynette was so immersed in her work that she didn't look up. She looked covered in paints and inks. Her hands were stained with blues and reds and browns, much like her dress. Her hair was a mess. But her hands were moving on the canvas, fast and sure.

He moved closer until he could see the image that she was trying so hard to capture.

Ned Stark's likeness was staring back at him with the same grey eyes his daughter had, as accusingly as they did on the day of the Sack.

Tywin was at her side now, half-circling this way and that. He was trying to make her aware of his presence without startling her. Her white cheeks, whiter than usual, were streaked with tears.

Tywin felt another sigh creep up his throat but swallowed it down.

It tasted foul, black like shame, and sour like pain.

"What are you doing, Lynette?"

She didn't look at him, just kept drawing, focused on the collar of Ned Stark's cloak. Her lip trembled.

Methodically, as if forcing herself to continue with her drawing, she relaxed her wrist and let the lines curve and flow until the cloak looked ready to waft in the cool breeze. That reminded him. Tywin shut the window, and the cold air slowly seeped into the carpets.

He tried again, "Lynette?"

Her shoulders shook, but still she would not look at him. Her lip was in her teeth now and her back was ramrod straight. Tywin felt anger rise within him. _Anger is the first sign of defeat._ He trampled the flickering flame of his rage out and let concern replace it. The transition between the emotions was seamless.

Tywin Lannister remembered another time the woman who held his heart fought to keep her grief inside her body, rather than letting him help her carry it. Joanna's father had died suddenly. He remembered her tears and her wailing and the weight of her loss. He soothed her how he could: with a tight embrace and a comforting word.

He'd forgotten those words.

Her voice was small, cracked. She hadn't spoken all day then. There was a rasp to it, too. Crying. She'd been crying. Her eyes remained locked on the canvas.

"I wanted to dr-draw them… be- _hiccup-_ before I forgot what-what they looked like when th- _sob-_ they were alive."

Tywin looked at the canvases in front of the fire. There were two sitting there, accusing him. Catelyn Stark, flaming hair and all, and a boy that had his mother's image and his father's bearing: Robb, he assumed.

When he looked back to Lynette, she'd finally stopped drawing. She was weeping softly. There were no harsh sounds flying from her mouth, just tears – never-ending rivers of tears running down her opalescent cheeks to land on her dress.

She stood up abruptly and her fists clenched.

Her lead came flying through the air.

Tywin barely dodged it.

She was in front of him in a flash. Her fists pounded into his chest as tears – endless tears – burnt through his doublet to brand his flesh. The pain felt better than her eyes mocking him, so he took it.

Lynette hit him, again and again, until she couldn't because hurting him hurt her. That alone made her nauseas: she should hate him. She should! Tywin murdered them! Brutalized them!

And still she felt his warmth on her skin and the fire in his touch, not the repulsive _wrongness_ of the deeds that his hands had performed. She felt Tywin, not the man who signed the parchment, and she hated it!

She hated the relief that coursed through her: she would no longer have to explain to her mother that she, the Wolf of Winterfell was in love with Tywin Lannister. She hated that this relief interwove with the soul crushing grief and longing that she felt whenever she thought about what happened at The Twins.

And Sansa…

Lynette hated herself for being in Tywin's chambers, instead of comforting her sister. She hated herself for loving him. She hated herself for wanting him.

But she loved him.

And she hated herself for it, with a fire that the hottest hell would fear.

"Lynette," he whispered into her hair when she calmed down, "Lynette, Lynette, Lynette." It was like a prayer, the prayer of a desperate man.

She clung to him tightly, so tightly that her nails cut his skin.

In weakness, and fear, she whimpered, "Just make it go away… please! Please just make it go away!"

He kissed her then. In that moment, that breathless few seconds of time they were just two people. They were just people, not Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Lynette, of House Stark. They were just people.

And that was enough.

Lynette fought against her mind and her reason and her shame, but it all soon rushed down the river of flame his touch created in her soul. _Such safety, such warmth…_ Their kiss was brutal. There was anger, and pain, and shame, and _fire_ , and _frost_ and everything that made a forbidden romance wonderful.

Lynette didn't care about songs of lovers scorned, or what people would say about her the next day, or what her sister would think. She only cared for his touch, because it made her other thoughts disappear and her heart pound so loudly she couldn't hear the ghostlike accusations that floated around her head. He took the pain away, him – Tywin – and that was good.

And still, not enough.

"Please," she stuttered, his hands hot on her back, "just make it go- go- away."

Sex was a powerful aphrodisiac. He knew she lost herself in him, because he lost himself in her. Tywin gripped her waist and swung her up in his arms. She wrapped her legs around him, searching for some ( _any_ ) friction, desperate to forget.

They both gasped in relief, because all was heat suddenly and she didn't feel the harrowing, biting cold anymore. The kiss reduced both of them to nothing but hunger for each other, and a desperate need to be closer than they were, to lose themselves. Tywin dug his hands into her wild hair, tilted her head back and kissed her, his tongue plundering her mouth, kissing her in ways he never had before, as if he was _finally_ losing all of his control.

She didn't realize they were moving, but then he slammed the door behind them, harder than he meant to, and set her down. Lynette whined in response. Lynette needed something to hold on to, something to ground herself because her world was falling apart.

She was empty and wet already – she'd not had him for weeks and was beginning to doubt if their last coupling on his desk was only a dream, a figment of her imagination.

His hands drew her out of her mind again and away from the _cold,_ as they always did. Warm, soothing and sinful, they curled around her body. She gasped – his hands were resting just over her breasts, teasing her through the fabric of her corset and dress. Her nipples were straining against her corset and she felt constricted.

Suddenly, with barely contained tension emitting from him, he whirled her around and drew her back to his chest. Lynette shook with want, her mouth open in a breathless moan. Her muscles clenching painfully, arousal rushing through her. He did so little, and she was already putty in his hands.

His mouth, hot and wet, kissed her neck. Tywin ground his hips into her behind, just as desperate as she. His hands loosened her dress hurriedly and little by little she could feel the constricting material slip.

His scent was everywhere, leather and ink buffeting her.

 _Please. Please just make it go away._

Tywin couldn't get enough of her skin, the way she arched into his touch. Her arse was pressed deliciously to his cock, and he was already so hard he had trouble breathing. His chest heaved against her back, straining for air, but breathing her in instead.

"Be sure, Lynette…"

His voice was rich and made her shiver – low, like a growl. _The Lion of Lannister._ His hands – Tywin's beautiful hands - were at her waist, holding her dress up. Was she sure she wanted him to touch her? Was she sure that she would be able to live with herself for letting him?

Again, her throat hoarse, she whimpered her plea, "Just touch me… please."

A growl so dark and dripping with lust echoed from his chest. Lynette knew she was wet but when she heard that sound, so raw and filled with need for her, a deep ache settled in her soul.

He ripped her dress, the back seam breaking under his harsh grip.

It fell away, and his hands were on her again, all over, like he couldn't decide where to touch her first. She made quick work of her corset and threw the thing across the room.

Tywin caught her waist in his hands and corralled her to the bed. He gripped her thighs and set her down among the pillows. He stood back and looked at her: her dark hair, her heaving breasts and her smallclothes. A vision.

She reached for him and pulled him down on top of her. His clothed body, a stark contrast to her near naked flesh moulded into her perfectly, like she was made for him and only him, and he for her. She hated that thought.

He kissed the guilt away.

Lynette shook against him, overcome by the fire in her veins. His lips danced slowly down to her neck, over her breasts. He kissed her skin and whispered nothings into her flesh, sighed her name to the emptiness around their exclusive niche on the warring earth.

They made love that night, he and she.

Afterwards, as she lay warm in his embrace, she cried. She cried for her sister's grief. She sobbed for her father, for her mother, for her brother. She wept for the North and wailed for the future.

And she wept for Tywin Lannister – the man who once gave her hope in her hopelessness, who shielded her, who comforted her, who taught her to survive in a pit of liars. She wept for the love she knew he'd never give her. She wept for everything wrong with the world: war, pain, death, suffering and _cold._

When sleep finally claimed her, she dreamed of ice and snow and the world drowning in Winter, and woke, with her heart frozen – a cold and barren image of the woman she'd become there, the daughter of the traitor, the liar, the wolf, in the den of horned lions.

* * *

 _Author's belated note:_

If you are reading this, it means you've not yet given up on me, and for that I thank you!

School has been CRAZY and I am sorry for abandoning this story (if it can be called that).

And yes, I know I pushed Ty's inner monologue, but I wanted to convey a very important message, something I've stressed from the beginning: sex is used as an escape, and Tywin isn't as unfeeling as he lets on. Lynette is in shreds (I told you, dear reader, not to judge her too harshly) and will be for the foreseeable future.

Please review! They helped me so much! Thank you to everyone who left me a little bit of love, and please feel free to leave some tips, too. 'Pack of One', my trusty guide to Westeros (meant in all honesty as a compliment, I swear) feel free to leave me some information - you help me keep it all as real as it can be given the circumstances.

Anyway, enjoy! xx


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